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A  SOLDIER 
OF    VALLEY   FORGE 


WORKS  OF 

"ROBERT  V^CEILSON  STEPHENS 

An  Enemy  to  the  King 

The  Continental  Dragoon 

The  Road  to  P. iris    -         -         . 

A  Gentleman  Player 

Philip  Winwood         ... 

Captain  Ravcnshaw 

The  My?t«ry  of  Murray  Davenport 

The  Bright  Face  of  Danger     - 

TJif  Might  of  Georgiana 

Tales  from  Bohemia        ... 

Clementinas  Highwayman  - 

(By  Robert  Nnlion  Strph<?n«  and  Gcotgr  Hembcrt 

A  Soldier  of  Valley  Forge 

(By  Robrrt  Nrilton  Slrpheni  and  G.  E.  Throdoie 

¥¥ 

L  C  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

53  Btacon  St  red,   Boston,   Ma; 


'■SeSeSiSiSSSZSBSiiSiSSi,essSSSiSiSBSiSSii,l 


7?!!lll!!illi!Hlil/i!ilJUi!!ifflSi;iHil?13?K;;-!r!t.'?Ti-;i!i 


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"He  Iremhied.   huf  flood  ninfionless" 

Friim   a  n^amline   hy    Frank    IT.    L%Cirriil 


^w^^^^^!?^0m'^mf*fM^  ■  y> 


i 


A  SOLDIER  OF 
VALLEY  FORGE 

j^  Tiomance  of  the  Jlmerican  T^evolution 


my 
ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 

JIuthor  of  "An  Enemy  to  the  King.  "  "  Philip  Wimoood.  "etc. 

and 

G.  E.  THEODORE  ROBERTS 

jluthor  of  ••  Hemming  the  Advenlura," 
"  A  Captain  of  Raleigh's,  "  etc. 


■ttli «  frnttttaiiUrf  In  foil  rnlnnr  from  a  )raintta0  bg 
FRANK  T.  MEEWILL 


BOSTON     «     L.  C.  PAGE  & 
COMPANY   «   MDCCCCXI 


Copyright,  iqii 
By  L.  C.  Page  &  Company 

(incorporatkd) 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 

All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  April,  191 1 
Second  Impression.  April,  1911 


BJtctrotyped  and  Printed  by 
THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  //.  Simonds  &*  Co.,  Boston,  U.  S.A. 


I, 

II. 

III. 

IV. 


VI. 
VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 
XII. 

XIII. 
XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVTTT. 


CONTENTS 

— • — 

mam 

John  Bradford,  Tory  .  .  .  .  i 
The  Wharton  Household  .  .  .  ig 
Solomon's  Vision  .        .        .       ^c 

The    .-Xrrival    of    Two    Disturbing 

F"actors  in  One  Day     ...       47 
Colonel  Gibbon  Blocks  the  King's 
Highway     against    the     King's 

Regiments ^q 

Captain  Barnabas  Bradford  '.       88 

Among  ihe   Fleshpots  of  Philadel- 

^^"^  ••■...      105 

Captain    David    Wharton    and    the 

Two  Generals         .        .  -127 

Why  David  Wharton  Did  Not  Stay 

to  Dinner  ... 

IHE     i'.XPEDITION      Is     DiSPATCHED     IN 

Haste  ,5-. 

f«\^J^ ■        ."     18^ 

IN  Which  the  New  Major  Comes  to 

<^R'EF igg 

Off  to  War 217 

In  Which  New  Enemies  Are  Found 

AND  Dealt  With  231 

The  Washington  -  Clinton  Race      .  2C4 

The  Day  at  Monmouth  .  267 

On  the  Road  to  New  York  .  291 

At  THE  House  of  John  BRtVOFORD  310 


A  SOLDIER  OF 
VALLEY  FORGE 


CHAPTER    I 

JOHN    BRADFORD,    TORY 

Old  Asa  Wharton  sat  on  a  bench  in  the  kitchen 
of  his  gray  farm-house.  The  door  stood  open  to 
the  clear,  renewing  sunshine  of  mid-April.  The 
patriarchal  farmer  was  engaged  in  mending  a  trace 
that  had  broken,  a  few^  minutes  before,  and  so  in- 
terrupted his  morning's  plowing.  His  brown,  hard 
fingers  were  busy  with  the  leather,  his  mind  with  a 
greater  matter.  At  a  table  near  the  chimney  two 
women  were  preparing  a  baking  of  bread  for  the 
heated  ovens.  One  was  Prudence,  mistress  of  the 
house  and  wife  of  Asa's  only  son,  the  Reverend 
Oliver  Wharton  The  other  was  Susan,  the  onlv 
servant  of  the  household.     The  women  chatted  as 

1 


2  A  SOLDIEK  OF  VALLEY   tORGE 

they  worked ;  for  in  tiic  Massaclmsetts  farm-house 
of  1775  the  attitude  of  mistress  to  maid  was  friendly 
and  unpretentious. 

Asa's  nic(hiations  and  tlie  women's  chatter  were 
interrupted  by  Mr.  John  Bradford.  This  gentle- 
man, wh(»  was  both  physically  and  financially  sub- 
stantial, entered  the  kitchen  from  an  inner  room. 
He  held  his  three-cornered  hat  and  walking-cane  in 
one  hand,  and  several  fokled  documents  in  the 
other.  Though  gray  of  head  and  somewhat  too 
fleshy  of  face  and  figure,  he  carried  his  sixty  years 

well. 

"  I  must  step  out  and  conclude  my  business  with 
Edw.u-d  Wickham  and  Richard  Harvey."  he  sa'd: 
"  and  so  to-morrow  will  bring  our  very  jjleasant 
stay  under  your  roof  to  a  close,  Mrs.  Wharton." 

"  We  shall  be  sorry  indeed,  sir,  to  have  you  and 
Anne  leave  us."  returned  the  dame.  "  Anne  is 
like  sunshine  in  the  house  and  such  a  sweet,  cheering 
ct)mpanion  for  our  Ruth." 

Mr.  Bradford  b(nved  ponderously.  Being  a  Tory 
and  a  Boston  merchant,  he  had  taken  some  pains, 
in  recent  years,  to  elaborate  his  manners. 

.\sa  \Miarton  now  sat  with  his  hands  idle  in  his 
lap  and  his  keen  though  kindly  glance  upon  his 
guest's  face. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  what  you  have  done,  John,"  he 


JOHN   BRADFORD.  TORY  S 

said.     "  An'  maybe  you'll  regret  it  yourself,  some 
day." 

"  You  mean  the  selling  of  the  land,  Asa?  " 

"  Yes,  the  selling  cf  those  two  fine  farms  for  less 
than  half  their  real  \  ilue  —  and  every  acre  of  'em 
cut  out  of  the  forest  Ly  your  grandfather  an'  your 
father." 

Asa  spoke  with  the  heat  of  conviction;  but  it 
was  a  quiet  heat. 

Mr.  Bradford  smiled  complacently.  "  My 
friend,"  he  said.  "  though  I  get  only  half  the  value 
of  the  land  — and,  mind  you.  I  do  not  admit  to 
having  driven  so  poor  a  bargain  as  that  —  I  shall 
at  least  have  it  safe  in  my  counting-house  in  Boston, 
in  the  shape  of  good  English  gold,  when  property 
in  this  vicinity  shall  be  of  no  value  at  all." 

"Why.  John,  whatever  are  you  talking  about?" 
inquired  the  other.  "  I  was  never  much  of  a  hand 
at  readin'  riddles;  and  it  bests  me  to  think  what 
could  happen  —  except  another  Noah's  flood  — 
that  would  make  these  good  meadows  an'  corn-lands 
valueless.  Whcaten  bread  an'  corn-bread,  pancakes, 
beef,  wool  an'  mutton !  —  what's  ever  to  happen, 
John,  to  rob  such  blessings  of  their  value  ?  " 

"  Answer  the  question  for  yourself.  Asa,  as  you 
are  well  able  to,"  returned  Bradford.  "  When  you 
and  your  neighbours,  who  talk  rebellion  in  every 


4     A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

fence  corner  and  at  every  turn  of  the  road,  have 
at  last  hatched  that  serpent's  egg  —  why,  then 
you'll  have  your  answer!  And  you  won't  relish  it, 
my  friend!  The  land,  no  doubt,  will  still  be  of 
value  —  but  of  no  value  to  its  seditious  owners. 
The  arm  of  the  English  King  is  long.  Asa.  and  the 
royal  regiments  are  at  the  end  of  it  —  like  a  red 
fist." 

The  old  man  chuckled,  "  If  that  is  what  you 
think,  John,  you  would  surely  run  no  risk  in  hold- 
ing on  to  your  farms.  Von  are  not  among  the 
seditious  —  you  are  a  loyal  subject  of  His  Majesty 
—  so  why  fear  for  the  safety  of  your  property?  " 

The  merchant  cleared  his  throat ;  but  he  was  at 
a  loss  for  a  reply. 

"  Father  is  right.  Mr.  Bradford,"  said  Prudence, 
drily.  "  Even  it  we  rebellious  country-folk  should 
dare  to  ri.se  and  offend  the  King's  ^L1jesty,  so 
staunch  and  well-known  a  Tory  as  you  would  not 
sufifer  either  in  person  or  property.  General  Cage 
won'd  see  to  it  that  your  property  was  protected, 
you  may  be  sure.  Otherwise,  where  would  be  the 
reward  of  your  loyalty?" 

"  Very  true.  Very  true !  "  returned  Mr.  Brad- 
ford ;  "  but.  for  all  that.  I'll  feel  snfer  with  the  price 
of  the  lands  in  my  own  strnncr  box  in  Boston,  in 
undeniable,  disaffected  English  gtu'neas." 


JOHN   BRADFORD,  TORY 


I 
■J 


Asa  nodded,  his  tanned  face  wrinkled  in  quiet 
mirth.  *'  Ma>be  you're  right,  John,"  he  said;  "  but, 
as  you've  done  it,  I'm  sorry  we  couldn't  take  ad- 
vantage of  your  sagacity.  Here  we  be,  three  stal- 
wart Whartons  —  Asa,  the  gran'dad,  Oliver,  the 
6011,  David,  the  gran'son  —  an'  not  the  iialf-price  of 
those  two  good  farms,  layin'  north  an'  south  'long- 
side  our  own  meadows,  in  our  combineil  pockets. 
'Tis  a  pity,  John,  a  pity!  I  like  land  —  and,  best  of 
all,  I  like  New  England  land.  And  I'd  be  glad  to 
own  some  more  of  it  at  this  very  minute." 

"  And  yet,  Asa,  your  father  was  a  richer  man 
than  mine,"  replied  Bradford.  "  You  have  lived  a 
long  life,  Asa;  but  you  have  not  gathered  any 
money  together.  I  sometimes  wonder  what  you 
have  done  with  all  those  good  years." 

The  old  man's  eyes  twinkled.  "  I  have  wrought 
according  to  my  lights,  friend  John,"  he  answered; 
"  and  so  I'll  continue  to  do  —  while  the  lights  last. 
You  can  cover  every  shilling  of  mine  with  a  golden 
guinea,  John ;  but  where  you  have  nought  but  those 
golden  guineas  to  count  over  and  over  I  have  golden 
memories.  Lord  love  us!  d'you  think  I'd  exchange 
wy  treasure  for  yours?    No,  indeed!  " 

"  Hah  —  hum.  Treasures  of  the  mind,"  said  the 
merchant,  with  pity  in  his  voice.  "  Well,  every 
man  to  his  taste.     Asa  Wharton  to  his  treasures  of 


«  A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FOR(.E 

tlic  mind  and  Joiin  Bradford  to  his  treasures  of  the 
mint." 

Asa  Wharton  got  to  Iiis  feet  and  with  flashing 
eyes  and  raised  hand  demanded  the  attention  of  his 
guest,  his  dauj^diter-i!i  hiw  and  the  ^er'  ant. 

"Carthaj,aMi;i!  Loiii>L)urjr!  Onebec!  Ticonde- 
roga!  "  lie  cried.  "  Tiiose  names  spell  history,  not 
property  —  an'  .\sa  Wharton  had  a  hand  in  the 
spelling.  I  have  taken  the  word  of  command  from 
Wolfe  against  the  might  of  I'rance,  from  Washing- 
ton against  the  lying  subtleties  of  the  red  man. 
Wolfe  had  an  ugly  little  face:  but  I  can  see  it  now 
—  a  clear  tlame  —  as  he  rode  down  our  lines  on  the 
plains  of  Abraham,  Ix-fore  (Juebec.  '  Don't  break 
the  line,  Xew  r.nglanders."  said  he.  '  Back  a  pace. 
Dress  by  the  centre.  Xirn'W  be  at  'em  soon  enough, 
my  lads.'  And  his  voice  like  a  boy's,  mind  you; 
and  his  ugly  little  face  (laming  like  an  angel's. 
Hah!  is  that  a  memory  to  trade  for  gold?  '  Back. 
New  Knglanders,'  said  he.  And  why?  Because  we 
were  edging  forward,  to  a  man  —  straim'ng  towards 
the  enemy.  .\nd  Washington !  I  le  was  a  lieuten- 
ant of  rangers  when  last  T  fought  under  him. 
though  what  he  may  be  when  next  —  but  that  can 
wait !  " 

Asa  cooled  suddenly,  returned  to  his  seat  on  the 
bench   and   took   the  broken   leather  in  his   hands 


^^^^^^^^^s.:r;f  ./|;^-'-^    ii:^'ri'  : 


;a 


JOHN    HRADFORD,  TORY  f 

ajjain.  rnulcnrc  looked  above  tlie  hn ad-board 
aj^ain,  ber  cbecks  aglow  and  bcr  eyes  >hiniiig.  Kven 
Susan  sliowcd  signs  of  elation  and  awe.  But  Mr. 
Bradford  was  unstirred. 

*'  Very  fine.  Asa,"  be  said,  consequentially. 
"  Fine  and  beroic;  but  impossible.  \'ou  bave  been 
a  brave  soldier  and  nave  fouglit  inider  .some  great 
leaders;  but  tbey  were  IJritisb  leaders,  Asa.  Even 
VVasbington  was  a  Hritisb  officer  —  tbcn.  So  long 
as  you  figbt  under  His  Majesty's  officers,  old  friend, 
you'll  have  victories  to  record:  but  sbr-uld  the  mad 
folly  of  this  c.nmtry  and  these  times  lead  you  to 
take  up  arms  against  su'-h  commanders  —  why,  God 
help  you !  " 

He  turned  and  lK)we(.  to  Prudence.  "  I  shall  be 
back  before  dinner.  Mrs.  Wharton."  .le  said.  Then 
he  placed  his  hat  on  his  head  and  niarched  out  of 
the  kitchen,  to  hand  over  the  title  deeds  of  his 
farms  to  W'ickham  and  Harvey,  two  men  who  be- 
lieved in  the  value  of  the  land. 

John  Bradford  was  not  a  happy  man,  in  spite  of 
his  wealth  and  his  loyalty  to  King  George  of  Eng- 
land. He  believed  his  friends  the  Whanons  to  be 
terribly  rash  and  misguided  in  their  attitude  toward 
the  sudden,  burning  question  of  the  time;  but  in 
many  things  he  envied  Asa  Wharton.  Most  of  all 
he  en-ied  him  his  son.     He,  too,  had  a  son;   but 


8 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGii 


Lord!  the  difference  between  the  Reverend  OHver 
Wharton  and  Barnabas  Bradford!  Jolin  had  made 
a  false  step,  at  tlie  very  begnining  of  his  career,  by 
marrying  a  woman  of  no  good  quahties  save  an 
unusual,  brazen  kind  of  physical  beauty.  This 
woman  had  made  Jolin's  life  a  nightmare  to  him 
for  a  few  years,  had  presented  him  with  the  afore- 
mentioned Barnabas  and  had  then  run  away  to  Eng- 
land with  a  youthful  admirer.  John  had  suffered 
shame  —  and  relief;  and  he  had  made  no  effort  to 
recover  the  woman.  His  London  agent  had  kept 
him  informed  of  her  life  and  doings,  however;  and, 
at  last,  had  notified  him  of  her  death  —  a  disgrace- 
ful death.  There  had  never  been  a  happier  widower 
than  John  Bradford.  But  he  had  not  remained  a 
widower  fo*-  long,  but  had  ventured  upon  matri- 
mony again  and  this  time  without  disaster.  So,  for 
five  brief  years  he  had  been  happ)  —  and  then  fate 
had  struck  what  had  seemed  to  them  the  crud- 
est blow  of  all.  riis  wife  had  died,  suddenly,  of  a 
fever. 

"  I  have  had  two  wives,"  John  had  said,  "  the 
first  a  devil,  the  second  an  angel.  This  is  enough 
of  wiving  for  me,  though  T  should  live  to  be  a  hun- 
dred." So,  upon  recovering  from  the  fir'^t  bitter 
shock  of  his  loss,  he  had  turned  his  atlention  strictly 
to  his  children,  and  his  business.     He  had  now  two 


JOHN  BRADFORD,  TORY 


9 


M 


children,  Barnabas,  the  offspring  of  the  first  union, 
and  Anne,  the  offspring  of  the  second. 

This  Barnabas  was  his  mother  over  again,  body 
and  spirit.  He  began  to  disclose  his  real  nature  at 
an  early  age;  but  the  father  had  shut  his  eyes  to 
these  disclosures,  had  hoped  against  hope,  until  that 
day  of  shame  when  Barnabas  Bradford,  son  of  John 

Bradford,   was  expelled   from  Harvard  College 

from  the  same  college  from  which  Asa  Wharton's 
son  Oliver  had  gone  forth,  about  eight  years  before, 
with  a  distinguished  degree  and  the  respected  love 
of  teachers  and   fellow-students.      Barnabas   Brad- 
ford's case  was  an  unusual  one  of  its  kind  —  a  thing 
of  utter  disgrace.     The  whole  of  it  was  never  made 
known  to  the  public.     John,  in  the  first  fury  of  his 
shame,  had  tried  to  administer  a  thrashing  to  the 
cause  of  it ;   but  Master  Barnabas  had  tripped  him 
up  very  neatly,  laid  him  flat  on  the  floor  with  pain- 
ful violence,  and  held  the  point  of  a  knife  against 
the  paternal  windpipe;    and  John,  gazing  up  into 
the  young  man's  eyes,  had  seen  the  eyes  of  the 
mother  —  the  red  shadow  of  hell-fire  as  he  hoped 
never  to  see  it  again.     And  so,  instead  of  receiving 
a  thrashing.  Barnabas  had  sailed  for  England  and 
Europe,  his  pockets  well  lined. 

After  this,  anotlier  change  came  over  John  Brad- 
ford.    He  left  Anne  almost  entirely  to  the  care  of 


10    A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


her  governess  (who  was  an  honest  woman,  fortu- 
nately), and  applied  all  of  his  mi' d  and  what  was 
left  him  of  a  heart  to  his  business.  It  was  as  if  all 
the  pleasurable  excitements  of  life  had  dwindled  to 
the  adding  of  guinea  to  guinea,  house  to  house. 

Sometimes  he  remembered  to  ask  for  his  little 
daughter  upon  his  return  to  the  big,  empty  home 
after  the  day's  work;  but  sometimes  he  forgot. 
Now  and  again  his  conscience  pricked  him  and  he 
played  with  the  child  for  half  an  hour  at  a  tiine,  — 
lx)ught  toys  for  her  and  ordered  new  dresses  and 
fal-de-lals.  As  ■:•.&  years  passed,  however,  he  suf- 
fered these  prickings  of  the  conscience  less  and  less 
frecjuently.  He  had  other  things  to  prick  him. 
Heaven  knows!  —  and  these  things  were  the  irreg- 
ular and  shameless  reappearances  of  Barnabas.  For 
Barnabas,  with  his  money  gone,  always  turned  up 
like  the  proverbial  bad  shilling,  came  home  like  the 
proverbial  cat;  and  until  his  pockets  were  filled 
again  from  the  paternal  coffers  he  remained  in 
Boston,  haunting  the  resorts  of  vice  and  flaunting 
his  depravity  in  tlie  faces  of  his  father  and  his 
father's  friends.  I'ntil  he  v.as  shipped  awav  again 
John  Bradford's  reputation  —  yes,  and  his  life,  even 
—  htmg  by  a  thread ;  for  Barnabas  was  as  ready  to 
twist  a  knife  as  to  twist  his  lying  tnngue.  He  was 
absolutely,  utterly  vicious  and  dishonourable;   and 


JOHN  BRADFORD,  TORY  u 

yet  his  father  had  uot  the  hanhliood  of  spirit  to 
hand  him  over  to  tlie  autliorities.  Once  again 
money  would  be  paid;  once  again  Barnabas  would 
swear  tliat  this  time  was  the  last  -  with  his  tongue 
in  his  cheek  as  soon  as  the  oath  was  given;  and 
once  again  he  would  take  ship  for  London. 

A  day  came  when  John  Bradford  awoke  to  the 
amazing  fact  that  little  Anne  was  a  young  woman 
—  and  a  decidedly  charming  young  woman,  at  that. 
She  nas  tall,  graceful  and  more  than  pretty.     Her 
manivTS  were  good ;  she  could  read  in  both  French 
and    ■-nglish:    she  could  play  several  classical  selec- 
tions on  the  harpsichord  and  the  lute;    she  could 
sing,  dance  and  do  artistic  needlework.      In  short, 
she  was  a  young  lady  of  whom  any  parent  might 
well  be  proud -the  equal  of  any  proud,  patched 
beauty    m    Boston  -  a    fit    mate    for   some   stately 
Colonial  Tory  of  the  ruling  class  or  some  dashing 
officer  of  the  Imperial  army. 

John  Bradford  was  delighted  —  .so  delighted 
that,  h,!t  for  a  vow  that  he  had  once  taken,  he  would 
have  led  the  governess  to  the  altar  out  of  sheer 
.gratitude.  So  pleaded  was  he  that  even  Barnabas 
was  forgotten  --  fo^  a  little  while.  Gold  was  John's 
sod:  but  now.  suddenly,  his  place  of  devotion  har- 
boured a  eoddess  as  well  -  and  this  was  his  daugh- 
ter.    But  his  pride  in  her  was  stronger  than  his 


I; 

I! 


12         A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

paternal  love.  He  looked  upon  her  as  his  greatest 
treasure,  his  highest-priced  possession.  Of  course 
he  loved  her  as  his  daughter,  for  he  was  human; 
but  father-love  was  not  the  strongest  emotion  which 
she  awakened  in  his  heart. 

John  Bradford  had  distinguished  himself  in  com- 
merce and  had  acquired  wealth;  but  of  late  years 
he  had  feic,  now  and  then,  a  thirst  for  another, 
though  kindred,  branch  of  worldly  distinction. 
When  the  realization  of  Anne's  powers  and  charms 
came  to  him,  tliis  secondary  ambition  took  definite 
shape  in  his  mind.  It  was  a  desire  to  take  as  high 
a  place  in  the  social  life  of  Boston  as  he  had  already 
won  in  the  commercial  life.  This  was  a  queer  van- 
ity to  find  in  such  a  man  as  Bradford,  for  he  pos- 
sessed no  social  accomplishments  that  itched  to  be 
displayed,  no  thirst  for  merrymaking,  no  hunger 
for  the  companionship  of  scholars.  He  simply 
wanted  to  mix  with  the  fashionably  gay,  the  distin- 
guished and  the  scholarly  in  their  social  life.  He 
wanted  the  town  —  the  state  —  to  know  of  it  —  to 
see  John  Bradford  a  familiar  guest  in  the  houses 
of  Winslow  and  Winthrop.  of  Ludlow  and  Bliss. 
He  w-as  a  sound  Tory;  and  now  it  was  his  ambition 
to  become  a  fashionable  Tory  as  well.  He  looked 
at  .Anne  and  understood  that  she  must  be  his  key  to 
the  doors  of  the  exclusive. 


JOHN  BRADFORD,  TORY  13 

John  Bradford  had  started  upon  his  social  ven- 
ture only  about  two  years  before  the  time  of  the 
opening  of  this  story.     Thanks  greatly  to  Anne  and 
shghtly  to  his  wealth,  he  had  made  admirable  prog- 
ress.    He  found  the  best  of  the  fashionable,  espe- 
cially those  of  Coloni:.!  birth,  simple  in  everything 
except    their   manner.      These   were   delighted    to 
know  him.  frankly  charmed  with  Anne,  and  full  of 
wonder  that  they  had  not  seen  more  of  John  in  the 
past.     They  pronounced  him  an  estimable  man  — 
a  good  Bostonian ;   and  that  seemed  t.>  be  qualifica- 
tion enough  for  them  and  theirs ;    but  from  people 
of  less  assured  position,  and  from  some  of  the  Eng- 
lish officers  of  the  garrison,  he  met  with  snubs  and 
rebufifs  at  first.     Only  at  first,  however.     His  pres- 
ence at  a  party  at  Augustus  Ludlow's  and  a  State 
ball  at  Government  House  set  him  right  with  the 
waverers;    and  the  gentlemen  of  the  garrison  took 
a  second  look  at  Anne,  made  a  few  more  inquiries 
into  John's  business,  and  were  pleased  to  be  polite. 
"  Very  likely  he  is  quite  as  good  as  any  other  of 
these  demmed  Colonials."  remarked  .<n  ensign  of 
fusileers.     The  ensign's  grandfather  had  begun  his 
career  as  a  sadlcr  in  Cheapside;   and  it  was  a  curi- 
ous coincidence  that  the   father  of  the   "  demmed 
Colonial  "  in  whose  hou.se  this  remark  was  made 
had  ahvays  ridden  leather  of  that  sadler's  stitching. 


M 


.■I" 


14         A   SOLDIER  OF   VALLEY   FORGE 


As  J'lliti  Ihadfotil  walked  along  in  the  April  sun- 
shine toward  Richard  Harvey's  with  his  London- 
made  cane  in  one  hand  and  the  deeds  of  his  farms 
in  the  other,  his  mind  dwelt,  somewhat  fretfully,  on 
Anne.  But  for  Anne's  perverseness  he  might  now 
be  the  father-in-law  of  a  Winthrop  —  or,  better 
still  (in  the  eyes  of  the  world  outside  of  Boston), 
the  father-in-law  of  Major  Sir  Goodwin  Trigge, 
Baronet,  34th  Regiment.  Anne,  however,  had  not 
considered  his  wishes  in  the  matter  —  or  the  wi.shes 
of  Mr.  Winthrop  or  Sir  Goodwin.  Now  John's 
hope  of  a  distinguished  match  for  her  lay  in  the 
direction  of  Lieutenant  George  Temple.  Temple 
was  handsomer  and  merrier  than  the  unsuccessful 
Winthrop,  younger  and  slimmer  than  the  rejected 
Major.  He  was  brave,  too,  and  honestly  in  love. 
All  these  qualities  would  weigh  with  Anne  though 
they  did  not  greatly  impress  John.  But  John  was 
keen  to  capture  Temple  for  a  son-in-law  because  of 
his  influential  connections  in  England.  Temple, 
who  had  been  ill  in  the  winter,  had  obtained  leave 
to  accompany  Mr.  Bradford  and  .\nne  into  the 
country,  and  was  even  now  at  the  village  inn. 

Bradford  soon  got  through  with  his  business. 
He  then  called  at  the  inn  for  Temple,  but  was  in- 
formed bv  the  landlord  that  the  lieutenant  had  left 
for  Mr.  Wharton's  place  some  time  ago.    This  inn- 


JOHN  BRADFORD,  TORY  15 

keeper,  William  Pickard  by  name,  was  known 
throughout  the  countryside  as  a  "  dry  stick."  He 
was  in  some  way  related  to  the  great  John  him- 
self. 

"  The  young  gentleman  seems  to  have  taken  an 
amazin'  fancy  to  old  Asa,"  he  said.  "  Here  he's 
been  in  my  house  a  week ;  an'  every  day.  twice  or 
thrice  atwixt  sunup  nn'  sundown,  he  must  step  over 
to  the  Wharton  place.  But  maybe  it's  Oliver's  Ruth 
he's  got  his  -^ye  on?  What  say  you,  Mr.  Brad- 
ford?" 

"  Why.  William,  as  you  ask  me,  I  must  say  you 
are  more  of  a  fool  than  I  thou,i,dit  vou."  replied 
John,  sternly.  "  Rut!,,  d'you  say  ?  Don't  you  know 
that  Mr.  Temple  left  Boston  and  came  here  in  com- 
pany with  me  and  my  daughter?  And  don't  you 
know  that  my  daughter  and  I  are  visiting  the 
Whartons  ?  " 

"  You  call  me  a  fool,  sir,"  returned  the  inn- 
keeper, mournfully.  "  If  so,  'tis  no  fault  of  mine. 
Its  m  my  poor  mother's  family  — an'  my  mother 
an'  yours  were  cousins,  John !  Well,  good  day  to 
you,  cousin.  'Twill  be  a  f^ne  .'^tep  up  in  the  world 
for  you  if  Anne  catches  the  lieutenant  for  a  hus- 
band. But  take  a  hint  from  me.  John  —  cret  'em 
spliced  an'  safe  to  Englan<l  as  quick  as  vou  can. 
The  day  is  nigh  when  the  wives  of  gentlemen  like 


16 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


" 


Lieutenant  Temple  will  be  in  danger  of  findin'  them- 
selves widows  any  minute." 

John's  face  flamed.  He  stuttered.  He  pounded 
his  cane  on  the  doorstep  of  the  inn.  Then,  without 
another  word,  he  turned  and  strutted  up  the  road, 
vowing  furiously  that  he  should  never  again  visit  a 
neighbourhood  in  which  every  Tom.  Dick  and 
Harry  could  claim  kinship  with  him.  It  was  too 
hard  on  his  new  dignities. 

Mr.  Bradford  had  fumed  along  for  a  hundred 
yards  or  so  when  he  met  with  a  fresh  humiliation. 
.\  shrill  whistle  caused  him  to  glance  to  the  left. 
A  lad  of  about  fourteen  years  of  age  was  grinning 
at  him  over  the  top  rail  of  the  fence. 

"  Hey.  Mr  Bradford!  What  did  the  red  Injins 
do  to  yer  cargo  of  tea  ?  " 

John  halted.  He  would  have  been  wLser  to  have 
passed  on.     He  shook  his  cane  at  the  bov. 

"  Impudent !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  'Twas  not  my 
tea  —  nor  my  ship.  But  every  pound  of  that  tea'll 
be  paid  for  yet  —  an'  the  ta.x.  too !  Remember  that, 
you  lawless  young  rascal." 

"Who'll  pay?" 

"  The  rogues  who  hove  it  overboard  into  the 
harbour." 

"  Bah !  Go  home,  you  fat  Tory  —  an'  take  this 
with  you !  " 


JOHxN   BRADFORD.  TORY 


17 


A  sun-baked  lump  of  earth  struck  John's  fine  hat 
and  knocked  it  forward  over  Iiis  eyes. 

"  That's  for  you!  "  cried  the  boy.  "  Here's  an- 
other for  King  George !  " 

The  second  clod  struck  the  merchant  fairly  be- 
tween the  shoulders. 


mv 


C?TAPTER    II 


ji 


THK    WHARTON    IIOX-SEIIOLD 

John  P.RAnroKD  regained  the  Wharton  home- 
stead l)ef.irc  the  dinner-horn  had  blown.  Asa  was 
afield,  plowins?.  having  mended  the  broken  trace, 
(k'orge  Temple  stood  in  the  door-yard  with  Anne 
and  Kuth,  under  the  budding  apple  trees.  His  thin, 
dark  face  still  sliowcd  some  marks  of  his  recent  ill- 
ness. He  wore  a  long-skirled  riding-coat  that  liitcfl 
his  slim  bodv.  from  the  hips  ui)ward.  and  his 
straight  shoulder^.  t<.  a  wish.  The  cloth  of  the  coat 
was  dark  green.  His  waistcoat  was  buff,  his 
breeches  white,  and  he  wore  boots  and  sjnirs.  His 
features  were  good,  and  clean-cut :  but  they  struck 
one  as  being  somewhat  too  delicate  for  the  face  of 
a  man  —  more  e-^pccially  of  a  man  of  action.  His 
eyes  wert-  large  and  dark,  and  pensive  when  his  face 
was  in  repose.  He  Iiad  more  the  look  of  a  scholar 
and  a  dreamer  than  an  officer  of  grenadiers.  Noth- 
ing about  him  suggested  the  pork-and-beef  fed  Eng- 
lish soldier;    an('.  yet  every  drop  of  his  blood  was 

18 


■t 


THK   WHARTON    HOISKIIOLD 


19 


Jliiglish  and  lie  was  a  much  l)etter  soldier  tlian  tlic 
majority  of  his  comrades-in-arms. 

John  faced  the  three,  his  temper  not  improved  by 
tlie  sij^hi  of  Ruth  W  Iiarioii  spoilinjr  such  an  oppor- 
tunity is  this  for  llie  Heuteiiaiit  U>  ur-c  his  suit. 

"  'J'hiiigs  have  cmtie  to  a  pretty  pass  in  this  scdi- 
ti.ms  licle!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  place  is  a-reek 
with  rebellion.  .\  loyal  subject  -a  Kint,''s  man  — 
cannot  so  mncli  as  walk  tiie  Kinj^r's  higjiuay  without 
meeting  with  insult.  It  is  a  shame!  A  crying  dis- 
grace." 

"  Why.  father,  what  has  happened?  "  asked  .Anne. 

Temple  >miled.     "  Lord!   my  dear  sir.  who  gives 
a  thought  to  a  few  Iump>  of  mn<I?  "  he  said.     "  Xot 
I,  you  may  swear.     Let  me  brush  off  the  back  of 
your  coat.      That's  better.      Hiat   la<l   who   tlu'ow.s 
his  father's  good  land  alxmt  is  Peter  Lunt.     He  has 
let  fly  at  least  an  acre  of  it  at  me.  since  my  arrival; 
but  now  we  are  very  good  friends.     Tliat.  no  doubt,' 
IS  why  he  has  now  be.-iin  to  honour  von  with  his 
attentions.     He  must  throw  at  somo  ,,ne.  if  only  to 
keep  his  hand  and  eye  in  practice." 
..   "T^"t  — but   the   indignitv   of   it!"   cried    bihn. 
"  First  a  lump  on  tlie  head,  knocking  my  hat  into 
my  eyes  —  then  a  great  smack  between  the  shoul- 
'k-.-.     Hell!     Ob'    vou  may  kinqh— but  tome  it 
does  not  seem  a  laughing  matter." 


20 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 


My  (It-ar  sir,  when  lead  bt'giii>  to  lly  our  way, 
instead  of  dry  earth,  then  well  have  something  to 
cry  out  ahout ;  and  then  it  will  Ik'  time  tu  take  steps 
in  the  matter,"  replied  Temple. 

"However  tiiat  may  i)e,  sir,  John  Bradford,  a 
native  ot  this  villa,t,'e  and  as  loyal  a  subject  of  Kinj.^ 
(leorge  as  any  liorn  in  London,  does  not  mean  to 
wait  here  until  llie  lead  hei^dns  to  t1y,"  said  the  mer- 
chant, pomixiusly.  "  'ro-morrow  my  daughter  and 
1  return  to  Boston." 

"  In  tiiat  case."  said  Mr.  Tem])le.  with  a  swift 
glance  toward  .\nne.  "  1  think  1.  too.  must  return 
to  Boston  and  duty.  My  health  is  (piite  restored  by 
now,  thanks  to  this  fine  air." 

\nnc  did  not  meet  the  Englishman's  glance  but 
turned  to  her  father. 

"  ^Tust  we  go?  "  she  asked.  "  There  is  reallv  no 
danger.  I  am  sure  the  trouble  you  are  afraid  of, 
father,  exists  only  in  your  imagination." 

"  Please  let  .\nne  stay  with  us  a  iutle  »  .;ger,  Mr. 
Bradford,"  pleaded  Ruth.  "  She  needs  the  rest  and 
r|uie1,  after  her  gay  winter  in  town." 

"  '.\\y  dear  young  lady,  it  caniK-t  be."  answered 
John,  not  unkindly.  "We  have  been  well  treated 
under  vour  roof  and  lia\-e  greatly  enjovcd  our  visit ; 
b:it  there  is  tliat  in  the  air  that  makes  it  politic  for 
a  man  of  niy  —  ahem!  —  of  mv  views  in  certain 


|i" 


THE  WHARTON   HOUSEHOLD  21 


1 


matters,  to  withdraw  speedily  from  this  neighbour- 
hood. I  foresee  a  season  of  madness  and  disorder 
—  brief,  'tis  true,  but  ex  x-chng  bitter.  To-day  I 
was  assauhed  (ni  the  King's  higliuay  Ixjcause  I  am 
known  for  a  loyal  subject.  Of  what  might  happen 
a  few  days  hence,  when  the  fe\cr  of  revolt  is  more 
advanced,  I  tremble  to  think." 

At  that  moment  Su>an  appearcil  at  the  kitchen 
door  and  blew  a  deafening  blast  on  a  long  tin  horn. 

"  I  must  run  in  and  see  that  the  table  is  set.  Will 
you  honour  us  with  your  company  at  dinner.  Lieu- 
tenant Temple?"  said  Ruth. 

Tem{)le  bowed,  smiling  whimsically.  "  With 
pleasure.  Miss  Ruth  —  as  I  have  every  day  of  the 
past  week,"  he  replied. 

"  [  am  going  with  you."  .said  Anne. 

The  two  girls  entered  the  house,  leaving  the  mer- 
chant and  the  lieutenant  alone  under  the  apple  trees. 

"This  is  a  bad  business."  said  Bradford.  "A 
deviH,<;h  bad  b;^siness!  I  Lrcmblc  for  our  safety, 
lieutenant.  The  sooner  we  get  safely  back  to  the 
protectifm  of  the  regiments  the  better." 

"Twaddle!"  returned  the  Englishman. 

"Sir?" 

"  -^^  —■  T  beg  pardon !  Rut  we  are  in  no  real 
danger.  There's  something  brewing,  of  course; 
but  T  don't  think  it  will  amount  to  much.     This  is 


22 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


a  dcliglitful  spot —  I  liave  been  happy  licre.  I  am 
sorry  to  have  to  leave  it.  \t;.  Xot  so  happy  a^^ 
I  might  be,  of  course  —  but  still  hopeful  and 
happy." 

■■  Ail!     You  are  hopeful?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  have  not  yet  ventured  to  —  to  put 
the  question;  but  1  feel  that  my  chance  improves 
every  day." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  know  that  I  wish  you  success. 
Anne  is  such  a  strange  girl,  however,  that  I  am 
afraid  to  advise  her,"  said  Bradford. 

Just  then  Asa  Wharton  appeared,  from  having 
stabled  the  horses.  He  greeted  the  Englishman 
pleasantly  and  respectfully.     The  two  shook  hands. 

"  Yon  look  better  every  day.  lieutenant."  said  the 
old  man.     "  We  have  fine  air,  sir." 

"  And  you  have  fine  dinners,  sir,"  returned 
Temple. 

"  You'll  always  be  welcome  to  our  table,  sir, 
whatever  the  food  may  be  like,"  said  .\sa.  Temple 
bowed.  He  liked  thi^  (]ueer  old  farmer-soldier.  It 
was  a  type  he  was  not  used  to  —  a  type  unknown 
to  rural  England. 

"Well  spoken,  .X'^a!  Spoken  like  a  Wharton," 
said  Bradford.  "  Yet,  old  friend,  judging  by  what 
I  sec  and  hear,  you  —  you  are  not  all  that  you 
sound." 


K^. 


THE  WlIARTC)x\  HOUSEHOLD 


23 


"  I  am  an  honest  man,  Jolin,"  rcplierl  .\^a;  "  and 
I  linpc  i  sound  like  one  Vou,  too.  are  an  honest 
man  —  hut  surely  you  have  lived  l(jng  enough,  John, 
to  kn.nv  that  all  h  nest  men  do  not  run  to  the  same 
whistle." 

"  Quite  rig,"  said  [ohn      "  Quite  right  " 
'I  smcerel_    hope  that   nothing  may  happen  to 
make  enennes  of  us.  .Mr.   Wharton."  said  Temple. 

"  There'll  be  no  private  enmity  between  us,  vou 
■nay  be  sure,"  replied  the  farmer;  -and.  as  I  said 
oefore.  I  shall  always  be  proud  t,,  sliare  mv  dinner 
with  you.  But  now  I  must  go  in  and  tidy  myself, 
gentlemen." 

The  simple  but   bonntifid  dinner  was  served  in 
the  dining-parlour.     Susan  waited  upon  the  diners, 
assisted  occa-ionally  by  Ruth.     The  party  consisted 
of  the  three  honom-ed  guests  .Atnie.   John  .nnd  the 
Englishman,  of  Asa.  the  K\-verend  Oliver  and  bis 
wife.  Ruth  and  her  brother  Davi<I      Rmh  and  Anne 
sat  side  by  side.     Anno  was  tall,  with  a  -^lender  but 
diarming  figure,  lunn'nous  gray  eves  and  Iiair  of  the 
Lint  of  pale  copper.     I Icr  cxprr.si,,„  was  gentle  and 
yet  vivacious  and  her  fentiires  fnu.lilcs..     Her  beauty 
■as    undenia])le.       R„th.    Oliver    Wharton's    only 
I'lnghter.   was   small   and   dark:    and.    in   a   small. 
'.irk  wav,  she  was  remarkably  predv.     She  was  in 
'•-I'cate  health.      Her  spirit,   however,   was  robust 


!i 


21 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 


ii    i\ 


enough.  David,  her  brother,  was  a  strapping 
young  man  of  about  twenty- four  years  of  age.  His 
hair  was  bglit  brown,  Hkc  his  mother's,  his  face 
brown  and  red  w  ith  sun-tan  and  health.  Every  Hne 
and  look  of  him  suggested  strength,  honesty  and 
intelligence.  lie  was  as  tall,  broad  and  large  of 
bone  as  his  reverend  fatl'er,  though  not  yet  ([uite  so 
heavily  muscled.  In  height  the  three  Whartons, 
Asa,  Oliver  and  David  stood  within  the  half-inch 
of  one  another;  but  the  youngeft  still  lacked  a  little 
of  the  others'  girth  of  chest.  David  had  received 
good  schooling  in  Boston,  but  had  not  followed  his 
father's  footsteps  across  the  river  to  Harvard  Col- 
lege, lie  did  not  aspire  to  the  Ministry  or  the  Law 
—  and  the  familv  fortune  did  not  allow  of  a  colleee 
training  simply  as  a  genteel  superfluity  of  accom- 
plishments. David  was  destined  to  keep  the  home- 
stead weather-ti'hi  and  its  broad  acres  in  heart 
after  Asa's  reign  was  over. 

John  Bradford  told  of  his  undignified  adventure 
of  the  morning.    l\lrs.  \'\'harton  was  distressed. 

*'  A  sorry  way  to  treat  you,  sir,"  she  exclaimed; 
"  and  this  the  home  of  vour  fathers.  It  is  a  shame! 
Folks  should  not  let  their  feelings  about  such  a  poor 
creature  as  German  George  get  the  better  of  their 
manners." 

John  Bradford's  face  lost  its  ruddiness.     Speech- 


and    a   tritle    more   of   the   juice,    if   you 


THE  WHARTON  HOUSEHOLD  25 

less,  he  gazed  in  consternation  from  his  hostess  to 
Lieuten:    t  Temple. 

"iMy  dear,"  expostulated  Oliver,  mildly,  "you 
forget  the  young  gentleman  on  your  riglit." 

"  Yes,  madam."  said  Temple.  "  you  forget  the 
terrible  champion  of  King  George's  sacred  name 
that  sits  at  your  right  hand.  How  dare  you, 
madam!  Shall  I  arrest  you.  in  the  names  of  a  slan- 
dered monarch  and  an  outraged  army?  Xay  —  at 
least,  not  until  you  have  finished  serving  me  to  a 
second  helping  of  those  dumplings.  Beware,  trai- 
tress !  - 
please.' 

Everybody  laughed  e.xcept  John  Bradford. 
"  Sir."  he  cried,  "  such  conduct  on  your  part  is 
—  is  downright  unseemly.  You.  sir  — an  officer 
of  the  Imperial  army  — to  speak  with  such  levity 
and  disrespect  of  His  Gracious  Majesty!  I  am 
astounded !  " 

"  But.  my  dear  Mr.  Bradford.  1  said  nothing  di.s- 
respectful.  On  the  contrary.  I  stood  noblv  to  my 
colours.  I  \\as  firm,  yet  gentle.  I  even  threatened 
to  arrest  the  lady." 

"  That'll  not  go  down  with  me.  sir."  returned 
Bradford.  "You  condoned  with  the  naming  of 
your  sovereign  for  a  creature  and  a  German." 

Temple  shot  a  covert  glance  at  Anne  and  saw 


f 


26 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 


i!; 
«. 
-.» 

I. 

1 
i 

i 

1! 

H 

i 

that  she  was  not  sliaring  her  father's  seri  n:-;  view 
of  the  conversation.  "  We  are  all  ere:  s,"  he 
said,  with  j^n-avity.  "  Creatures  c^f  dust-  of  Mil  — 
of  —  well,  i\>k  the  parson !  But  we  are  not  all 
Germans." 

"  You  distress  me,"  said  John,  tartly. 

"  You  must  make  allowances,  John,  for  the  lieu- 
tetiant's  w  it  an'  upbrin-ini;,"  said  Asa.  "  It's  not 
e\ery  man  could  have  turned  my  daughter's 
thoughtless  remark  so  neatly  and  made  us  all  laugh 
where  some  would  have  left  us  feelirig  awkward. 
It's  a  gift,  Jolm  —  a  gift  you  are  not  blessed  with. 
For  my  (.nvn  part  my  filmier  admiration  of  the  lieu- 
tenant is  increased:  and  I  am  ready  to  take  oath 
on  it  that,  when  loyalty  to  your  king  is  put  to  the 
test,  neine  uill  be  found  of  a  finer  loxidty  than  our 
honoured  young  friend,  lie  and  1.  his  and  mine, 
may  look  on  certain  matters  at  different  angles,  but 
I'll  trust  liim  to  stand  by  his  colours  as  I  trust  the 
\\'hart<ins  to  <tand  by  theirs." 

The  Kngli^hman  flu^!)ed  with  jileasure  and  bowed 
to  .Xsa.  A  murmnr  e.f  agreement  went  round  the 
table. 

"Of  course!"  snapped  Mr.  Bradford.  "But  I 
take  exception  to  your  way  of  stating  it,  Asa.  Y'ou 
speak  as  if  my  iMvnlty  t<i  Hi'^  Majesty  were  quite  a 
different  and  inferior  thing  to  Lieutenant  Temple's 


•i    i 


THE   WFIAHTON    HOUSEHOLD 


i7 


—  even  a  (iiftcM.  iit  sort  of  .scnlimcnt  to  the  Whar- 
iMiis"  Kiyalty  t(/  tlie  W'hartons'  niist,aiide(l  views." 

"  Tliat  is  so !  "  said  the  old  man.  "  The  heutenant 
is  a  scjkher  —  and  we  are  soldiers.  Not  hired  sol- 
diers, mind  yon.  hut  horn  -oldiers.  You  l(X)ked 
ui)on  mc  as  a  farmer.  John;  but  I  did  not  heat  my 
(jld  musket  into  a  pruning--hook,  nor  nevei  will. 
Xor  did  my  son  Oliver  turn  his  musket,  that  he  car- 
ried under  .Xhercromhie  and  Howe,  into  a  quill 

though  y(.u  might  suspicion  he  had  from  the  weight- 
iness  of  his  sermons." 

"  Very  fine !  Very  fine  !  "  returned  the  merchant. 
"  i^>ut  what  is  a  soldier,  when  you  consider  the  ques- 
tion honestly?  Wiiy!  nought  hut  a  fighting- 
machine!  Food  for  powder!  .A  defender  or 
threater.er  (as  the  case  may  he)  of  commerce,  hired 
by  the  real  brain  and  sinew  of  the  world  —  the 
merchant.     A-hem!  " 

"  A-hem.  indeed."  murmured  Temple. 
"Consider    the    subject    broadly,    impersonally," 
o.ntinued  John,  who  had  not  caught  the  Knglish- 
nian's  aside.     "  Is  the  military  life  a  noble  one?^     Is 
it  helpful  to  humanity:^     What  say  you,  Oliver?  " 

"  Do  you  wi<h  me  to  speak  as  a  soldier  or  a  par- 
son ?  "  asked  Oliver. 

"  As  a  minister  of  CkxI." 

"  Very  well.     It  is  vanity,  and  worse.     It  is  mur- 


28 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


dcr  on  a  gigantic  scale.  It  is  a  thing  of  passion, 
unloveliness  and  false  pride.  It  is  a  curse  to  civili- 
zation —  a  stumbling-block  to  progress.  It  is  — 
it  is  —  " 

"  Aye,  so  it  is,  lad,"  iiUerrupted  Asa,  drily.  "  But 
now  let  us  hear  what  ycu  have  to  say  about  it  as  a 
7)uin  of  God." 

Oliver  looked  at  his  father,  then  scratched  his 
nose  retlectivelv.  "  W'hv,  sir,  as  a  man  of  God  I 
repeat  what  I  have  already  said  —  with  a  proviso 
to  the  effect  that,  so  long  as  the  Divine  Wisdom 
continues  to  j)ermit  the  existence  of  tyrants,  then 
for  just  so  lung  shall  it  continue  to  be  every  Chris- 
tian's duty  t(j  do  battle  for  his  rights  and  for  the 
rights  of  the  oppressed." 

"  That  scenis  just,"  said  Temple,  gravely.  "  Mis- 
takes may  be  made  as  to  what  constitutes  tvranny; 
but  that  is  beside  tlie  argument.  Will  you  now  tell 
us,  sir,  what  you  think  of  soldiering  —  as  a  soldier." 

The  parson  smiled  at  tiie  lieutenant  and  shook  his 
head.  "  I  must  refuse,  sir.  to  be  drawn  into  any 
such  vain  talk.  Remember  my  cloth,  sir,  and  spare 
me.'' 

"  I  understand,  sir,"  returned  Temple.  "  No 
wonder  you  wish  your  military  career  forgotten. 
Soldiering  is  a  cruel,  ignoble,  utterly  despisable 
thing." 


THE  WHARTON  HOUSEHOLD 


!29 


"Hold!"  cried  Oiiver.  "Not  so  fast,  if  you 
please!  I  cannot  allow  you  to  thrust  such  words 
inio  my  mouth,  sir.  Some  of  the  best  men  I  know 
are  s.^ldiers.  1  have  seen  noble,  glorious,  inspiring 
deeds  performed  on  the  t^eld  of  battle.  I  have  seen 
unselfishness  and  tenderness  displayed  in  the  murk 
of  powder-sr..,.ke.  Xever  in  the  pulpit  have  I  felt 
the  nobility  of  manhood  in  the  image  of  God  so 
truly  as  I  have  felt  it  —  " 

But  here  he  stopped  suddenly  and  laughed. 

"  Is  that  what  you  wanted  to  hear,  lieutenant?" 
he  asked. 

"  ^'es,  it  is  what  I  wanted  and  expected  to  hear, 
Mr.  Wharton,"  said  Temple. 

"  Vou  seem  to  have  a  way  of  getting  what  you 
want,  young  sir,"  remarked  Asa. 

"  Then  I  hope  my  luck  may  hold,"  replied  the 
Englishman,  {|uietly. 

At  that,  David  glanced  anxiously,  covertly,  at 
Anne;  but  the  girl's  eyes  were  lowered.  He  looked 
at  Temple.  He  could  not  help  liking  and  admiring 
tiie  Englishman.  Again  he  turned  his  gaze  on 
Anne  ~  and  this  time  their  eyes  met.  i-or  a  .second 
or  two  their  glances  held.  The  colour  deepened  in 
the  girl's  cheeks  and  shone  like  sunrise  on  her 
white  brow.  Her  eyes  darkencl,  brightened,  shone 
for  an  mstant  like  Love's  own  piloting  stars  and  then 


■r 


30 


A  SOLDIKR   OF   VALLEY   FORGE 


i!      ! 


were  veiled  liy  lowered  lids.  Only  tlie  grandfather, 
of  all  the  company,  had  seen  that  tender,  wonderful 
signalling.  \t)nng  Uavid  sighed  —  a  sigh  of  utter 
delight. 

"  Too  much  dumplin',  Davy."  said  Asa.  "  Have 
a  care,  lad  !  ' 

David's  laughter  ratig  out,  mighty,  reckless, 
astonishing  the  diners.  All  save  the  old  man  and 
Anne  gazed  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  Why,  Davy,  what's  tickled  you  so  suddenly?  " 
asked  Oliver.  "  Not  a  word  out  of  you  all  dinner- 
time—  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  a  great  hoot  of 
laughter." 

David  blushed  and  looked  foolish. 

"  He  was  laughing  at  his  grandacl's  wit."  said 
Asa,  "  which  I  consider  very  kind  and  seemly  of 
him.  So  many  youngsters,  nowadays,  believe 
themselves  to  be  possessed  of  all  the  wit  an'  e.xpect 
their  grandads  to  do  all  the  laughing." 

Already  twice  the  usual  time  had  been  devoted 
to  the  meal.  In  answer  to  a  pleading  glance  from 
his  daughter-in-law.  old  .\sa  pushed  his  chair  back 
from  the  table. 

"  Davy  and  I  must  get  back  to  the  fields."  he  said. 
"  Oliver,  you  will  look  after  the  lieutenant  and  John 
in  your  study.  There's  a  great  flask  of  Jamaica 
behind  my  own  book-case,  gentlemen,  that  the  gov- 


l^\ 


THE   WHARTON   IIOLSKHOLD 


.'Jl 


crnor  liimself  can"t  match.  It  has  been  ten  years 
in  \v(jod  and  ancjther  five  in  bottle.  \(ju  will  excuse 
us.  j^cntlenicn." 

llie   ,L(<i 'd    Xew    England,    mid-day   dinner   was 
(jver.      i"he  patriarch  had  dismissed  the  diners. 

The  Reverend  Oliver  led  the  Enf,dishman  and  the 
merchant  to  tlie  small  room  in  which  he  wrote  his 
sermons  and  in  which  all  the  Ixxjks  of  ilie  house- 
hold  were   ranked   ni)on   shehes   that    ran   entirely 
around  the  walls,  broken  only  by  the  door  and  two 
windows.      John   was    familiar   with   the   room  but 
not  "Teatly  interested  in  it.     The  chairs,  tables  and 
books   were  all   sha])]iy.      The  best  thing   in   it.   he 
maintained,   was  the  family  canteen  —  a  collection 
of  li(iu<jrs  j,^athere(l  fn,m  here  and  there,  at  dififerent 
times  !)y  .\sa  and  Ohxc-  and  sparin_<,dy  i)artaken  of 
by  themselves,  but  always  at   the  service  of  their 
g-uests.      Temple   had   been    in    the   room   on   two 
former  occasions  but  had  not  yet  had  an  opportun- 
ity to  examine  its  contents  closely  —  excepting,  of 
course,  the  lif|nors.     .As  a  student  of  human  nature 
be  was  intensely  '   terested  in  this  roomful  of  books 
m  a  Xew   England   farm-house.     Tie  had  already 
made   him.self    fanudiar    with    the   contents   of   the 
kitchen    and    the   dining-parlour.      In    the    kitchen 
were  the  antlers  of  moose  and  caribou,  the  family 
powder-horns  and  bullet  pouches,  a  dragoon's  sabre 


( 


S2 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


ii   li 


I  ii 


of  ancient  pattern,  a  pair  of  snow-shoes  tliat  had 
belonged  to  a  great  Indian  chief  when  Asa's  father 
was  a  young  num.  a  (hum  that  had  been  beaten 
before  Quebec  and.  most  vital  of  all,  Asa's  old 
musket,  Oliver's  musket  and  David's  long,  woods- 
man's rifle,  Asa's  and  Oliver's  pieces  were  the  same 
that  tliey  had  carried  in  their  campaigns.  David's 
had  never  been  aimed  against  a  human  mark ;  but 
it  had  answered  for  several  bears  and  wildcats,  had 
dropped  a  deer  at  a  hundred  paces  and  accomplished 
a  great  deal  of  clever  shooting  for  the  family  cook- 
ing-pot and  grill.  In  the  dinitig-parlour  hung  the 
portrait,  dark  and  obscure,  of  the  former  owner  of 
the  sabre.  This  gentleman  had  been  a  Wharton  — 
and  a  cornet  of  horse  in  Cromwell's  army. 

Susan  entered  the  study  with  three  commodious 
glasses  known  as  "  rummers  "  and  a  jug  of  water. 
The  Reverend  Oliver  produced  the  flagon  of  old 
rum  and  withdrew  the  cor!  Jcjhn  Bradford 
stooped  and  sniffed  at  the  neck  of  the  vessel. 

"  .Admirable,"  he  said.  "  Asa  was  right.  There 
is  none  better  in  New  England." 

The  liquor  was  poured.  The  gentlemen  raised 
each  his  rummer,  bowed  and  sipped.  Then  Temple, 
with  his  glass  in  his  hand,  stepped  over  to  the  near- 
est wall  and  began  to  examine  the  back?  of  the 
books.      He    passed    along    the    parson's    shelves 


t'\       « 


TIIK    WHARTON     HOI  SEIIOLD 


33 


sAifily,  for  they  paraded  the  ixjiiderous  divines,  the 
(Ireeks  and  the  Latins;  but  presently  he  liaited 
before  a  familiar  title.  It  was  "  Eartiiworks." 
Xext  stood  "Mining  and  Sapping,"  "A  Guide  to 
Alihtary  Supply,"  "  Infantry  'tactics  "  and  "  Com- 
pany Drill." 

"  That  is  Davy's  shelf."  said  the  parson,  who  had 
been  following  the  examination  with  discerning 
eyes. 

"  And  he  reads  them?"  in(|uired  the  other. 

"  From  cover  to  cover ;  and  he  knows  them,  too, 
frontwards  and  backwards." 

"  Many  of  our  commanding  officers  cannot  say 
as  muc!i :  and  yet  your  son  is  a  civilian.  I  should 
like  to  see  him  with  a  commission  in  the  Imperial 
forces  —  in  my  own  regiment.  He  would  rise 
swiftly,  if  I  am  any  }u(\s;e  of  a  man's  abilities.  And 
his  commission  could  be  arranged,  sir.  at  slight  ex- 
pense to  you.  General  Gage  would  recommend  him 
strongly.'' 

"  It  could  not  be.  sir  —  above  all  at  such  a  time 
as  this,"  returned  Oliver,  quietly.  "  Tilings  are  in 
such  a  state  in  this  country  — and  this  is  our  coun- 
try, despite  our  Fnglish   ancestry.     Davy's  great- 

^  grandfather  cut  this  home  out  of  the  wilderness. 
The  cabin  in  which  my  father  was  born  was  loop- 

^,   holed  like  a  fort.    He  fired  his  first  musket  through 


a- 


34 


A   SOLDIKFl   OF   V\l.f<K^     FORGE 


I 
i 

I: 


one  ■)i  thosf  lor.plKilcs,  aye,  ami  :-lc\v  his  first 
redskin,  lie  was  ttii  years  old.  Vou  see,  sir,  wc 
have  l'ous.,dit  liard  tor  tins  eonntry;  and  now,  at 
this  time  of  uncertainty  and  threatening  storm,  we 
can  think  of  nothing  else." 

"  I  understaiKl."  returned  the  luigh.shrnan.  "  I 
am  sorry  for  it       hut  I  understand."' 

"Well,  I  don'i !  "  e.xclainied  Jojr.  P.radford. 
"Such  a  huhhnh  hecui^e  of  a  ta.\  or  two!  It  is 
beyond  my  coni])reliension    -hexond   reason!" 

"  However  lliat  may  he.  irenilemen,  we  must 
trust  to  wiser  heads  than  ours  to  (|uiet  the  huhlnib. 
After  all,  we  are  hut  ihe  hands,  hi  the  meantime, 
T  notice  that  your  glass  is  empty,  Lieutenant 
Temple." 


"I 


CHAPTER    III 

Solomon's  vision 

Dwin  Wii AKTo.v  spent  tire  afternoon  in  repair- 
ini:  a  bill >li- fence  at  tlie  Ik-  k  ..f  the  farm.     Much 
of  the  hrnsi,  thai  ha.l  been  aif  and  laid  in  i)lace  a 
year   before   Iia.l   been    enislied    Hat    by   the   winter 
snows.     TIh'm-  j^ap.  Iiad  either  to  be  filled  by  sta- 
king   np    the    olrj    material    .ir    by    supplying    new. 
Thon-h    Uavid's  heart    was   not    in   the   work   that 
afternoon,  and  thou-h  only  a  portion  of  his  mind 
was  upr.n  ,t.  he  did  n..t   fumble  or  make  any  mis- 
takes.    Kn[  as  much  as  a  stroke  .^f  his  keen  axe- 
l)la(Ie  was  wasted  or  ill-considered.     Where  a  weak 
si-ot  could  be  mended  with  a  new  tree,  and  a  young 
spruce  or  f^r  stood  clo>e  at  band  and  in  the' right 
position,  he  took  his  measurements  in  a  glance,  cut 
half-way  through  the  trunk  on  one  side,  drove  the 
axe  in  to  the  eye  at  the  op[)osite  side  and  sent  the 
tower  of  green  sweeping  down  into  the  exact  place 
when-  it   was   rcjuired.      Tt   looked  ea.sy  enough  — 
and  it  wa^  easy  for  such  a  skilled  axeman  as  David. 

35 


i 


ii 


'III 


ii 


3C 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


In  this  way  rod  after  rcid  of  tlie  fence  was  set  to 
rights.  Economy  of  timber  did  not  have  to  be 
considered  in  New  England  in  1775.  There  was 
enough  and  to  spare  on  every  farm  in  Massachu- 
setts. 

David  worked  swiftly  and  unerringly;  but  his 
thoughts  were  in  the  gray,  wide-roofed  house  where 
Anne  Bradford  made  a  sunshine  in-doors  that 
matched  tlie  April  brightness  without.  To-mor- 
row tiiat  sunshine  w  ould  he  withdrawn  !  The  gray, 
simple  farm-house  was  to  lose  it.  the  grand  house 
in  Boston  —  nay,  many  grand  houses  and  assembly 
rooms  —  were  to  receive  it.  The  sunshine  was  to 
be  withdrawn  from  him:  but  Temple  was  to  con- 
tinue in  its  tender  and  inspiring  influence. 

"  That  is  as  it  should  be."  he  said,  sturdily. 
"  She  is  town-bred,  and  fashionable,  and  a  beauty. 
She  is  an  heiress,  too  —  and  the  toast  of  Boston, 
I'll  take  oath.  She  is  not  for  any  plain  farmer, 
any  man  of  homespun.  Though  her  father  is  but 
a  merchant,  and  a  man  of  no  .scholar.ship  or  dis- 
tinction of  birth,  yet  she  is  like  a  princess  and  has 
been  brought  up  like  a  princess.  She  must  take 
an  aristocrat  for  a  luLsband  —  and  if  so,  who  more 
likely  than  Temple?  He  is  kind  and  honest,  as  well 
as  great  and  rich." 

But  he  could  not  drive  from  his  mind  the  memory 


SOLOMON'S  VISION 


87 


M 


of  her  eyes  as  he  had  seen  them  a  few  hours  before 
at  the  dinner-table;    and  neither  could  he  satisfy 
Iiimself  with  his  reading  of  that  intoxicating,  bewil- 
dering glance.     At  first,  and  afterward  for  a   few 
delirious  minutes,  he  had  believed  that  love  —  love 
for  him  —  was  what  he  had  seen  in  those  bright 
yet  darkling  orbs.     But  now,  alone  with  his   axe 
and  the  crowding  forests  and  the  wide  field  that 
wore  his  only  fortune,  reason  forced  him  to  revise 
that  reading.     It  could  not  possibly  have  been  any- 
thing more  than  friendship!     And  perhaps  not  even 
that.     It  might  be  that  she  was  thinking  of  some- 
one else  —  of  the   Englishman  —  when  he  caught 
that  look  in  her  eyes.     Wliat  else,  in  the  name  of 
Heaven!      Why    should   a    girl   like    that   give   a 
tliought  to  a  plain,  hard-working  farmer?  —  aye, 
to  a  clodhopper!     Then,  like  a  sudden  hot  flame, 
a  yet  more  bitter  idea  flashed  into  his  mind.     Had 
she  intended  the   Englishman   to  oversee  that  ex- 
change of  glances?     Had  she  meant  to  stir  him 
into  activity?     No,  that  could  not  be!     She  was 
honest.     Her  heart  was  as  beautiful  as  her   face. 
And  yet  the  scorch  of  that  thought  remained  with 
him. 

"  I  wish  to  God  I'd  never  seen  her !  "  he  whis- 
pered, bitterly.    "  I  am  a  fool!  " 

It  was   six  o'clock   when  David  completed  the 


•f 

ft' 

«'* 

'  h 

'M 

r 

h 

'i 

ft 

lii 


l.-i 


If 


hi 


I 
> 


38        A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

repairing  of  the  fence.     He  filled  and  lit  his  pipe 
and  sat  for  a  while  in  dismal  meditation.     He  was 
disturbed  by  a  shrill  whistle  from  the  edge  of  the 
wood.     Looking  up,  he  beheld  the  familiar,  pitiful 
figure  of  a  young  man  of  the  neighbourhood  named 
Solomon   Brent.     There  had  always  been  a  Solo- 
mon in  the  Brent  family,  though  there  had  never 
been  a  man  of  wisdom.     Tlie  present  possessor  of 
the   name   was  an   undeniable   half-wit.      He   was 
about  nineteen  years  of  age.  halting  of  speech,  lanky 
of  limb  and  trunk,  vacant  of  face.     His  colourless 
cheeks  and  stooped  shoulders  gave  him  tlie  appear- 
ance of  being  weak  physically  as  well  as  mentally; 
but   in   reality   Iiis   long  arms  and   shambling  legs 
were  endowed  with  tremendous  stren.gth.     .Also,  on 
occasion,  he  could  mo\e  with  wonderful  swiftness. 
Now  he  crossed  the  field  and  stood  before  David, 
his  large,  shapeless  mouth  lengthened  in  a  foolish 
smile. 

"  Why,  Sol,  you  look  fine  to-day,"  said  David, 
glad  of  any  diversion.  "  That  cutlass  on  vour  hip 
makes  you  look  the  image  of  some  old  hero  and 
the  spruce  bough  in  your  hat " 

"That  ain't  spruce.  Davy,"  returned  Solomon. 
"  It's  a  crest  o'  feathers  —  eagle's  feathers.  I  am 
rduskap.  the  God  of  the  Algonquins.  It  makes  a 
good  game,  Davy.    Will  you  play  it.  too? " 


U 


H 
-1 


.m'm:t^>:j.m^^4m 


SOLOMON'S  VISION 


S9 


"  Not  now.     I've  been  working  hard." 
"  Is  your  gun   oiled   an'   loaded  an'   all   ready, 
Davy?" 

"  Yes,  it's  ready,  Sol.  Why  do  you  speak  of 
it?" 

"  Because  you'll  be  needin'  it  soon.  There'll  be 
a  power  o'  shootin'  goin'  on  afore  long,  Davy." 

"  Maybe  you're  right,  lad ;  but  what  makes  you 
think  so?" 

Solomon  Brent  glanced  furtively  around.  Then 
he  placed  a  long,  thin  hand  on  David's  shoulder. 

"  I  seen  it,"  he  whispered.  "  I  seen  it  this  very 
day  —  a  picter  of  what's  to  come  to  us." 

"  How  could  you  see  it  ?    What  did  yon  see  ?  " 

"  'Twas  down  on  our  own  bottom  medder,  this 
very  day.  just  about  noon-time.     I  was  on  that  bit 
of  a  knoll  to  the  west  of  the  medder.     The  sun- 
shine was  very  bright.     It  was  crawlin'  over  the 
wet  grass  like  a  kinder  clear  smoke.     An'  then  I 
seen  it.  Davy!     There  was  five  or  si.x  redcoat  sod- 
gers  standin'  together  like  a  bunch  of  young  steers 
in  a  snow-storm  —  kinder  backin'  into  each  other. 
They  had  fine  belts  on  'em,  Davy,  across  their  backs 
nn'  their  fronts  an'  as  white  as  Parson  Wharton's 
bands  on  a  Sunday  mornin'.     But  two  of  'em  had 
lost  their  great  hats.     Up  went  their  guns;    but  I 
didn't  hear  no  bang,  Davy.     I  seen  a  kinder  ghost 


I ; 


I;  I 

"I 


a 


40    A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

of  smoke  —  a  shadder,  like  —  an'  then  they  started 
runnin'  again.     Well  they  run  about  twenty  yards 

—  an'  then  tliey  run  'emselves  clean  into  the  air 

—  to  nothin'.     Well,  Davy,  that  dashed  my  spirits, 
for  I  was  admirin'  the  picter.     But  in  a  jiffy  there 
was  more  folks  a-hikin'  across  the  medder  — an' 
they  was  four  men  just  such  as  you  an'  me,  Davy, 
tho'  maybe  not  one  of  'em  was  as  big  an'  stal- 
wart  as   us.      They   was   hollerin',    I    know,   tho' 
I  couldn't  hear  'em.     There  was  an  old  man  ahead, 
without  no  coat  to  his  back,  just  as  if  he'd  quit 
plowin'  a  minute  before.     He  was  loadin'  his  gim 
as  he  hiked  along.     An*  in  a  jiffy  they  was  clean 
out  of  the  picter.  too  —  an'  that's  all  I  seen.  Davy." 

David  Wharton  sprang  excitedly  to  his  feet. 

"  Then  it  has  begun,"  he  cried.  "  Somewhere  — 
somehow  —  it  has  begun.  The  f^ght  is  on !  We'll 
be  at  it  ourselves  m  a  few  days.  In  serving  my 
country  I'll  be  able  to  forget  the  —  the  foolish- 
ness. Ah!  Sol.  now  every  man  of  us  must  stand 
firm  for  freedom.  There  i.s  no  drawing  back 
now !  " 

^^  "  Ay.  Davy,  that's  what  T  say,"  replied  Solomon. 
"  I'm  all  for  freedom,  by  gimi.  I'll  not  stand  by 
a  king  who  chucks  my  tea  into  Boston  Harbour." 

"  You've   got   that   story   hind-side   before.    Sol. 
But  never  mind.     We  are  free-born  men  and  not 


SOLOMON'S  VISION 


41 


a  race  of  conquered  slaves.    We  are  Colonials ;  but, 
by  the  Lord !    who  won  and  made  these  Colonies  ? 
Did  the   King  of  England?  — or  the   fat-headed, 
narrow-souled    Islanders    who've   never   seen   any- 
thing of  the  world  but  their  own  villages?     No! 
We  — our   fathers  — won   this   country   from   the 
savages  and  the  wild  and  held  it  against  the  French 
and  the  Canadians.     We  did  it  in  the  name  of 
England  and  Liberty.    We  were  Englishmen  —  the 
adventurous,  the  Empire-builders  of  the  race!    We 
left  the  cowards  and  sluggards  behind  us.     And 
now  t!!  y  talk  and  act  as  if  we  were  a  race  that 
had  been  conquered  by  their  ancestors !  " 

"  I  guess  that's  so,  Davy.  Anyhow.  I'm  standin' 
firm  with  you,  Davy.  This  here  cutlass  will  make 
'em  wish  they  hadn't.  I  got  a  gun,  too  —  a  mighty 
fine  weapon;  but  sometimes,  somehow  or  other, 
the  shot  gets  down  the  bar'l  afore  the  powder  — 
an'  then  she  don't  shoot.  Reckon  I'd  ought  to 
turn  her  'rouud  when  that  happens,  an'  fire  from 
t'other  end.  How-some-ever.  Davy,  I'm  glad  you 
believe  in  the  warnin'  of  my  vision.  I  was  afraid 
that  maybe  you  hadn't  sense  enough.  Davy." 

"  Yes.  that  is  a  kind  of  vision  I  believe  in,  Sol. 
for  it  was  a  real  picture  of  something  that  was 
happening.  I  have  read  and  heard  of  such  things 
before,  on  both  land  and  sea.    It  was  what  is  called 


r 

I.. 
1.1  I 


^V! 


42    A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

a  mirage.     The  sun  does  it  —  though  I'm  not  sure 
just  how." 

"  Ay,  Davy,  you're  talkin'  to  a  man  who  be- 
lieves you.  It  was  a  mighty  fine  picter,  any- 
how." 

"  Well.  I  must  be  getting  back  to  the  house  now," 
said  David,  shouldering  his  axe.  "  Milking  is  to 
be  done  yet,  before  supper.  Will  you  come  along 
and  have  supper  with  us,  Sol?  " 

"  I  reckon  not,  Davy,"  rep'ied  Solomon. 
"  There's  that  English  officer  who  haunts  your 
house  all  the  time!  He'll  be  to  supper  —  an'  I'm 
that  fire-away  in  my  temper.  Davy,  that  maybe  I'd 
do  him  some  hurt,  right  there  at  your  ma's  supper- 
table.  I'd  mistake  him  for  King  George,  like  as 
not,  an'  without  meanin'  anything  serious  I'd 
out  with  this  here  cutlass  —  an'  afore  you  could 
wink,  Davy,  or  parson  spout  a  prayer,  there'd  be 
the  officer's  head  in  a  pie-dish  an'  your  ma's  table- 
linen  all  mussed !  " 

David  laughed  heartily.  "  In  that  case,  Sol, 
perhaps  you'd  better  not  come  to  supper  till  to- 
morrow night,"  he  said.  "  Temple  is  not  a  mon- 
.ster  —  and  we'd  all  be  sorry  to  see  his  head  fly 
off.  We  all  admire  l.ieutenant  Temple,  in  sjjite 
of  the  colour  of  his  coat." 

"  Not  you.  Davy." 


£^' 

;   1 

i 

SOLOMON'S  VISION 


48 


"  Yes,  indeed.  I  like  him.  I  only  wish  he  had 
I)cen  horn  here,  and  then  he'd  be  on  our  side  of 
this  affair." 

"  But  he's  after  John  Bradford's  darter!  " 

"What  of  that,  lad?" 

"Just  this,  Davy.  So  are  you!  An'  if  I  wasn't 
your  friend.  Davy,  I'd  be  after  her.  too.  Just  say 
the  word  an'  I'll  slice  his  head  off  to-night,  soon's 
it  gets  good  an'  dark." 

"  No,  you  wouldn't.  Sol,"  returned  David, 
sternly.  "  That  is  not  the  way  soldiers  do  things. 
Iliat  is  not  the  way  Brents  and  Whartons  fight. 
And  you  are  talking  foolishness  in  every  particu- 
lar. What  do  you  know  of  Miss  Bradford's  af- 
fairs?" 

"Just  what  I  see  in  your  face,  Davy,"  replied 
ScjKjtnon  Brent. 

David  returned  to  the  house.  "  And  yet  Sol  is 
reckoned  to  be  less  than  half-witted,"  he  reflected, 
in  wonder. 

Supper  was  quieter  than  dinner  had  been.  There 
was  something  in  the  air  —  something  at  once  rest- 
less and  dispiriting  —  that  told  upon  the  company. 
Asa  Wharton  was  preoccupied,  answered  several 
questions  vaguely,  turned  his  head  frequently 
toward  the  door.  John  Bradford  showed  signs  of 
tret  fulness.     Even  Temple  was  quiet,  glancing  now 


44 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


1 


I   i 


and  then  at  Anne,  hut  oftener  losing  his  gaze  in 
the  heart  of  the  candle  tiame  before  him.  David 
tried  to  make  conversation ;  but  as  he  felt  that  po- 
liteness to  guests  demanded  silence  concerning  Solo- 
mon's vision,  his  efforts  were  not  very  successful 

for  he  could  think  only  of  Anne  and  of  the  mirage 
in  whicli  the  half-wit  had  seen  British  soldiers  re- 
treating before  the  advance  of  armed  farmers.  1'he 
Reverend  Oliver  managed  to  talk  well,  if  not  inspir- 
ingly,  of  t..e  weather  and  the  condition  of  the  live 
stock;  but  he  was  wondering,  all  the  time,  which 
of  the  men  at  that  table  would  be  the  first  to  pass 
violently  from  this  life  to  the  next.  He  knew  that 
the  time  of  bloodshed  was  close  at  hand. 

After  supper,  David  went  into  the  village.  He 
found  almost  all  the  men  and  lads  of  the  neighbour- 
hood gathered  at  William  Pickard's  tavern,  inside 
and  out.  They,  too,  felt  the  onu'nous  lull,  the  tin- 
gling calm  foreheralding  the  gathering  storm. 
Vague  rum.ours  were  in  circulation.  Dangerous 
passions  were  awaking.  A  very  few  of  the  men 
were  drinking;  and  one,  a  big  farmer  from  three 
miles  beyond  the  crossroads,  was  indulging  some- 
what too  freely  in  corn  whiskey.  He  shouldered 
his  way  out  of  the  house,  glass  in  hand.  He  raised 
the  glass  higli  above  his  head. 

"  Boys."  he  cried,  "  here's  luck  to  us  an'  damna- 


SOLOMON'S  VISION 


45 


tioii  everlastin'  to  them  as  w.juld  make  us  slaves! 
Here'3  to  our  bullets  —  an'  may  every  one  of  em 
go  through  a  redcoat !  " 

His  toasts  were  received  with  cheers,  and  fol- 
K'wed  by  good-natured  laughter  when  the  self- 
ordained  toastmaster  accidentally  spilled  his  liquor 
over  a  neighbour's  face  instead  of  into  his  own 
mouth.  David  was  well  received  by  everyone,  for 
his  family  was  highly  respected.  Old  Asa  Whar- 
ton was  the  hero  of  the  country-side.  Oliver  was 
as  loved  as  a  minister  as  he  was  as  a  man.  David 
himself  was  popular  with  all  who  knew  him.  Great 
tilings  were  expected  of  David,  and  his  knowledge 
of  the  science  of  soldiering  was  a  boast  of  the  vil- 
lage. 

In  the  thick  of  the  press  before  the  inn  David 
asked  if  they  had  heard  what  young  Solomon  Brent 
had  seen  tliat  day.  No  one  had  heard  it,  so  he  told 
of  Solomon's  vision.     It  was  received  with  cheers. 

'It's  an  omen."  shouted  one.  "We'll  lick  'em 
clean  out  of  their  red  coats." 

"  It  is  more  than  that."  replied  David ;  and  he 
explained  his  theory  of  the  mirage  as  well  as  he 
could.  His  words  were  confirmed  by  the  school- 
master, and  by  others  who  had  heard  or  read  of 
such  things, 

"Then  if  the  fight's  already  begun  it's  time  we 


?5* 


46         A  SOLDIER   OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

took  a  liand  in  it,"  said  a  yoiitij,'  trapper  who  had 
come  out  of  the  wilderness  to  the  settlements  only 
a  few  weeks  U-fore.  I'm  ready,  boys.  Summer's 
my  slack  time,  you  know." 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Jim,"  said  David.  "  We 
will  get  the  word  in  a  day  or  two  I  think;  and 
then  you'll  find  work  ahead  of  you  that  will  occupy 
more  than  your  spare  time.  It'll  be  no  one-summer 
business,  you  can  take  oath." 


»  h 


M 


'il: 


"-•  "»  mm 


CHAPTER    IV 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  TWO  DISTURBING   FACTORS  IN  ONE 

DAY 

The  five  men  sat  late  that  night  in  the  httle  book- 
hnt'd  study.  David  spoke  of  the  excitement  around 
llie  tavern.  He  told  of  Scjiomon  Brent's  vision ;  but 
he  did  not  mention  Ins  argument  with  Jim  Martin, 
tlie  trapper.  His  hearers  were  deeply  impressed 
with  the  story  of  the  mirage.  John  Bradford  made 
an  effort,  at  first,  to  put  the  serious  consideration 
of  it  aside  with  jeers.  "A  half-wit's  dream- 
er lie,"  he  said.  The  others  shook  their  heads. 
Oliver  drew  several  books  from  the  shelves  and 
soon  found  passages  dealing  with  well-known  ex- 
amples of  the  mirage.  He  read  them  aloud.  The 
merchant's  sneer  became  apprehension. 

"  I  hope,  to  heaven,  the  whole  countrv  is  not 
up  in  arms !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Lord !  who'd  have 
thought  this  could  ever  be!  We  are  in  danger, 
lieutenant  —  in  grave  danger.  I'll  feel  a  weight 
off  my  heart  when  I  see  the  spires  of  Boston  again." 


h!  t 


I*! 

I  ! 


t 

■L 

* 

^i 

Mi 

_^Wr 

\  •♦ 

tl  • 

48    A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

"  It  has  been  nutliing  mure  than  a  skirmish.  I 
think,"  said  Temple. 

"  You  are  safe  under  this  roof.  j,rentlemen.-  said 
Asa.  "  You  are  not  threatened  by  savages,  as  uur 
fathers  were.  And  t<.-m.,rn.\v.  though  yon  may 
h..d  a  deal  of  e.xcitenient  on  the  road.  Ill  .swear 
tliat  yon  will  meet  with  no  injury.  You  will  have 
Anne  with  you  —  and  the  company  of  a  woman 
will  be  your  safeguard." 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver.  "  \\ni  are  safe  to-night, 
and  will  be  safe  enouj4h  ;o-morr(nv." 

"  And  once  inside  Boston  our  safetv  is  assured," 
said  John.  "The  danger  will  be  the  other  wav. 
then.  My  friends.  I  am  sorry  for  you  and  I  would 
to  God  I  could  make  you  sec  your  madness!  Ay. 
madness!  Madness  unspeakable  -  and  laughable, 
too,  but  for  the  punishment  tliat  must  follow." 

"  He  laughs  best  who  laughs  last."  returned  Asa. 
quietly.  "  Jl'c  have  not  yet  laughed,  John:  but 
I  notice  that  you  have,  more  than  once." 

"  It  does  not  seem  a  condition  of  affairs  for  either 
side  to  laugh  at,"  said  Temple.  "  Whatever  the 
cause  (.f  this  trouble  — whatever  fine  things  may 
be  said  of  it  and  high  names  given  to  it  —  blood 
will  be  shed,  homes  desolated.  Englishman  will 
destroy  Englishman  —  for  the  spirit  and  blood  of 
all  of  us  is  English." 


^   Ilia 


TWO  DISTURBLNG   FACTORS 


49 


Asa  iKKldt'd.  "  1  aj^rec  with  you,  sir;  but  a 
Mian's  own  cliild  and  health  are  dearer  to  liim  than 
the  name  and  health  of  his  great-grandfather.  But 
it  u  11  be  a  sad  time,  a  sad  time.  Well  I  know  it, 
s  r.  I  have  been  at  death-grips  witli  Injuns  of 
twenty  different  nations,  with  Frenchmen,  with 
Spaniards,  with  niggers  an'  with  half-breeds;  but 
never  before  liave  I  sped  the  life  of  a  man  of  my 
own  tongue  and  mother-blood." 

"  Moralizing  will  do  no  good."  said  John. 
■■  Things  are  in  a  denmied  bad  way  —  an'  we  may 
as  well  be  content  with  that  until  lo-morrov/." 

Temple  frowned  at  the  man  whom  he  hoped, 
kfore  long,  to  make  his  father-in-law. 

'■  Such  sane  and  Christian  discourse  as  Mr. 
Wharton's  can  do  no  harm  and  may  do  good,"  he 
"^aid,  sternly. 

'•  Maybe  so.  Maybe  so,"  returned  John. 
"  nea\ens,  I'm  going  to  bed." 

He  wished  them  a  good  night  and  left  the  room. 
"  1  could  not  sleep,  even  if  I  tried  to,"  said  Tem- 
ple. "  This  is  worse  than  the  actual  clash  of  arms 
—  tin's  ominous  lull.  It  is  like  the  caln  before  a 
hurricane,  down  about  Barbadoes  and  St.  Vincent. 
It's  like  the  grinning  silence  of  two  great  dogs, 
standing  jov,l  to  jowl  and  eye  to  eye  before  they 
Hash  their  fangs." 


ft 


ill 


It 


•■( 


|5  if! 


i   f 

i,      *  ■ 

i  t'» 

;  ).» 

»     » 

'    >'* 

i    I 

f    t 

'i  X 

50 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


"  If  you  play  chess,  sir,  and  care  for  a  game,  I 
shall  be  delighted,"  suggested  the  parson. 

"  I  should  enjoy  it  immensely,  sir,"  replied  the 
Englishman.  "  We'll  seek  diversion  in  mimic  bat- 
tle." 

So  they  got  out  the  chess-table  and  the  pieces  and 
played  three  hard-fought  games.     Asa  sat  by  the 
fire  of  green  maple,  for  the  April  night  was  chilly, 
and  saw  many  old  deeds  of  valour  acted  again  in  the 
glowing  coals  and  leaping  Hames.     Now  and  again 
he  moved  his  hands  a  little  or  blinked  his  eyes.   Oth- 
erwise, he  was  as  still  as  a  carven  image.     David 
sat  with  his  back  to  the  candle  by  the  light  of  which 
his  father  and  the  lieutenant  played.     He  read  in- 
tently in  a  small  book  bound  in  red  leather.     "  Out- 
posts  are  of  the  utmost   importance   when   troops 
are    operating   in   a    hostile   country.      .\    cautious 
commander    will    make   every   provision    to   guard 
against  sudden  attack  when  bivouacked,  no  matter 
what  the  size  of  his  force.     In  the  rase  of  a  bat- 
talion of  infantry  the  commanding  officer   would 
do  well  to  "  —  and  so  on,  and  so  on.     This  is  the 
stuflT  with   which   David   was  trying  to  divert  his 
mind  —  not  from  the  electricity  of  imminent  war- 
fare in  the  air  but  from  the  thoughts  of  Anne  Brad- 
ford.     He    was   not   entirely   successful.      Several 
times  the  sage  advice  of  the  renowned  tactician  to 


.vi*?;  i''^^''^^?^  Mr 


TWO  DISTURBING  FACTORS 


51 


the  presumed  commanding  officer  of  a  battalion  was 
blurred  by  a  vision  of  Anne's  face. 

The  crawling  minutes  dragged  an  hour  after 
them  in  to  the  past.  Old  Asa  stooped  forward, 
placed  another  stick  on  the  fire  and  sank  back  in 
his  chair  again.  David  frowned,  turned  the  pages 
of  his  book  and  placed  his  outposts  —  and  every 
man  of  them  had  Anne's  eyes. 

"  Mate,  I  think,"   said  the  Reverend  Oliver. 
"  Mate,  beyond  a  doubt,  sir,"  replied  the  Eng- 
lishman.   "  Do  you  care  to  give  me  another  chance 
for  satisfaction?  " 

"  Delighted,  sir,  if  you  are  not  sleepy." 
They  began  to  place  the  pieces  for  the  fourth 
game.     Asa  sat  i      suddenly  and  jerked  his  head 
toward  the  window. 

"  Hark !  "  he  cautioned.  Then,  "  D'ye  hear  tliat, 
a  step  outside  on  the  grass?  " 

All  looked  toward  the  window  indicated  by  Asa's 
glance,  though  the  curtains  were  drawn  across  it. 
David  closed  his  book  and  got  to  his  feet;  and  at 
that  moment  there  came  the  sound  of  tapping 
knuckles  on  the  glass.  David  glanced  quickly  at 
Ins  father  and  then  advanced  toward  the  window. 
He  did  not  doubt  that  this  was  Jim  Martin's  game. 
\'ery  likely  Jim  had  fortified  himself  with  more 
liquor  and  taken  the  war  path. 


I, . 

>'■ 
1. 
II 

B 

H 

Pi 

.'' 
I* 


!     * 


'H 
.1 


if** 


m 


52    A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

"  Be  careful,  lad,"  said  Asa.  "  No  knowin'  what 
it  may  be.    There's  devilment  in  the  air." 

"  Nothing  dangerous,  I'm  sure,"  replied  David, 
parting  the  curtains  a  little  and  staring  at  the  black 
glass.  He  saw,  indistinctly,  the  pale  outline  of  a 
face  opposite  his  own.  The  face  drew  nearer  by 
a  tew  inches  until  he  could  see  the  eyes,  like  black 
holes  with  a  glint  in  them,  and  a  line  of  mouth 
twisted  in  an  unattractive  smile. 

"  Who  is  there,"  he  asked. 

"A  friend."  came  the  voice,  faint  but  distinct. 
"  An  old  friend  and  a  traveller.  Let  me  in,  David. 
Let  me  in  at  the  door." 

"  I'll  have  your  name  first,"  replied  David. 

The  face  outside  came  still  nearer  to  the  window- 
pane.  The  lips  seemed  to  touch  the  glass.  They 
looked  very  thin  and  unpleasant. 

"  Barnabas  Bradford,"  whispered  the  lips. 

With  an  exclamation  of  dismay  and  disgust 
David  turned  towards  the  expectant  room. 

"It  is  Barnabas,"  he  said.  "Barnabas  Brad- 
ford back  again." 

The  Whartons  were  not  ignorant  of  the  ways  of 
Barnabas.  They  had  heard  a  great  deal  of  him 
from  John  Bradford  and  something  even  from 
Anne  — and  rumour  of  some  of  his  home  visits 
had  drifted  over  the  country  in  common  talk.    Bos- 


"*?5J^^o?:. 


TWO  DISTURBING  FACTORS 


53 


ton,  in  those  days,  was  of  just  the  right  size  for 
gossip. 

"  He  must  come  in,"  said  Asa. 

"  Yes.  Let  him  in,  Davy,"  said  Oliver.  "  We 
must  give  him  sheher  for  the  sake  of  his  family. 
I  wonder  if  he  knows  that  his  father  and  Anne  are 
here?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  sir,"  returned  David,  "  for  this 
is  the  first  time  he  has  honoured  us  with  a  visit 
since  he  first  left  home,  ten  years  ago." 

He  left  the  room,  taking  one  of  the  candles  with 
him. 

"Who  is  Barnabas  Bradford?"  asked  Temple. 

"John  Bradford's  son,  by  his  first  wife  —  and 
an  unscrupulous  young  man,"  returned  Oliver. 

"  A  rascal !  But  John's  son,  after  all,"  said  Asa. 
"  I  am  sorry  for  John.  This  visit  will  upset  him 
more  tnan  any  political  or  national  trouble.  We 
must  all  make  the  best  of  it,  however." 

At  that  moment  the  unwelcome  visitor  entered 
the  room,  followed  by  David.  David  was  scowling 
and  looking  awkward ;  but  Barnabas  Bradford  was 
smiling  and  appeared  to  be  perfectly  at  his  ease.  In 
•  me  hand  he  held  a  fashionable  hat,  in  the  other  a 
gold-knobbed  tasselled  riding-switch.  His  horse- 
man's cloak,  of  fine  cloth,  was  flung  back  to  show 
its  lining  of  red  silk  and  his  perfectly  fitted  coat 


.,» 


I' 

If 


-If 


'Hll'^'i 


.:ii 


64    A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

and  yellow  breeches.  He  wore  boots  and  spurs. 
His  hair  was  neatly  tied  and  powdered.  His  com- 
plexion was  as  dark  as  Temple's ;  but  his  eyes  were 
small,  light  and  set  close  together.  His  nose  had 
an  ugly  twist  to  the  left.  It  had  been  broken  in 
a  drunken  brawl  in  a  Strand  tavern.  His  brow 
was  nirruw,  his  mouth  wiile  and  thin.  His  fea- 
tures and  expression  exjjressed  every  kind  of  ras- 
cality save  cowardice. 

He  advanced,  bowing  to  Asa.  to  Oliver  and  to 
Lieutenant  Temple.    The  three  stood  up. 

"  So  you  are  back  again,  Barnabas,"  remarked 
-Asa,  drily. 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  prodigal  has  returned  —  again, 
as  you  say,"  replied  the  j)olite  rascal,  smiling.  "  I 
trust  I  find  you  in  good  health,  sir  —  and  you, 
Oliver.  But  where  is  my  fond  parent  hiding  him- 
self? I  was  told,  in  Boston,  that  he  was  here;  so 
I  came  on  at  a  post-boy's  pace,  left  my  nag  at  the 
tavern  and  finished  the  journey  on  foot." 

"  Your  father  retired  to  his  bed  some  time  ago," 
■;aid  Asa.  "  But  sit  down,  sit  down.  Have  you 
supped?" 

"  Tliank  you,  sir.  I  have  supped.  I  paused  at 
the  tavern  for  a  bit."  He  looked  brazenly  at  Tem- 
ple. "  But  this  gentleman?  Have  I  had  the  hon- 
our? " 


TWO  DISTIRBIXG   FACTORS 


55 


"  It  is  IJeutenant  Tenij)lc,  of  one  of  His  Maj- 
esty's regiments,"  said  Oliver.  "  Lieutenant,  allow 
nie.    Mr.  Barnabas  Bradford." 

All  three  bowed.  Barnabas  did  not  show  the 
surprise  and  curiosity  he  felt  in  finding  an  English 
officer  under  the  Whartons'  roof.  David  left  the 
room  for  a  moment  and  returned  with  a  clean  glass. 
The  visitor  charged  it  to  the  brim  with  undiluted 
rum.  He  raised  it.  and  glanced  from  face  to  face 
with  a  sinister  smile. 

"  Your  health,  gentlemen,  in  the  rare  old  stings! 
May  valour  flourish  and  virtue  continue  to  be  its 
own  reward !  " 

"Ay,  a  very  proper  toast."  said  old  Asa  drily, 
and  again  turned  his  eyes  to  the  fire.  The  parson, 
keeping  his  temper  well  in  hand,  suggested  that 
Barnabas  might  wish  to  retire  now.  The  visitor 
replied  that  he  was  in  no  great  hurry  to  get  to  bed ; 
he  was  accustomed  to  keeping  late  hours.  "  But 
what  has  kept  you  people  up  so  late?"  he  asked. 
"  The  lieutenant's  bad  example  ?  Or  were  you 
expecting  me  ?  " 

"  You  are  the  last  man  in  the  world  we  expected 
to  see  to-night,"  returned  Oliver. 

"  Well.  Oliver,  it  is  the  unexpected  that  always 
happens  in  such  times  as  these.  Now  to  find 
Mr.   Temple   here,   when  the  belief  at  the  tavern 


56    A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


>•   ft 


n  i  ] ,, 


!l- J 


i' 


was  that  lie  had  taken  his  horse  from  the  stable, 
very  quietly,  and  ridden  for  Boston  several  hours 
ago." 

Temple  flushed  and  stared  unwinkingly  at  the 
speaker.  "  But  you  hnd  me  here,  after  all,"  he 
said  cc^ldly.  "  I  ride  for  Boston  to-morrow.  I 
trust,  Mr.  Bradford,  that  my  plans  are  agreeable 
to  you." 

"  Lieutenant  Temple  is  your  father's  friend  — 
and  ours.  He  is  our  guest.  What  is  there  un- 
usual in  that  ?  "  said  Oliver. 

"  So  that  is  the  way  the  cat  is  about  to  jump," 
remarked  Barnabas. 

"Cat?    What  cat?"  inquired  Asa. 

"  'Tis  but  a  figure  of  speech,  Mr.  Wharton," 
returned  Barnabas  leering.  "  'Tis  the  correctest, 
most  up-to-date  style  of  conversation,  in  London. 
What  I  mean  to  say  is.  this  company  is  solid  Tory. 
I  can  understand  it  of  my  dear  father,  of  course  — 
the  strong  side  for  him.  always!  But  from  what 
I  heard  from  the  patriots  at  the  tavern  I  am  sur- 
prised to  find  this  family  on  the  side  of  law  and 
order." 

"  My  dear  sir."  said  Temple,  "  the  best  of  friends 
may  differ  in  their  political  beliefs.  The  Whar- 
tons  are  kind  enough  to  accept  me  as  a  friend 
—  in  spite  of  my  opinions  on  a  certain  question. 


fii*LJX!SSa: 


,"%''iS5^K'3B^*iiP|^ 


TWO    DISTURBING   FACTORS  57 

Being  men  of  breeding,  sir,  we  find  no  awk- 
wardness or  unpleasantness  in  the  situation. 
But  you,  I  see,  find  difficulty  in  understand- 
ing." 

"  Breeding,  sir?  I  have  learned  to  look  for  the 
fi)unt  of  breeding  in  London  —  not  in  New  Eng- 
land villages." 

"Then  it  is  a  pity,  sir,  that  you  wasted  your 
time  so  while  in  London." 

"  I  fail  to  follow  your  argument,  sir." 
"  It  is  a  pity  that  you  did  not  discover,  and  drink 
from  the  fount  of  which  you  speak." 
"  You  mean  to  be  offensive,  Mr.  Temple?  " 
"  I  trust,  Mr.  Bradford,  that  I  have  been  too  well 
taught  to  give  offence  unintentionally." 

"  Enough  of  this !  "  exclaimed  Asa.  "  Lieuten- 
ant, I  am  old  enough  to  be  your  grandfather.  I 
request  you  to  go  no  further  with  this  argument. 
Be  seated,  sir.  I  beg  of  you.  As  for  you,  Barnabas 
Bradford,  though  your  father  is  my  friend  of  a 
lifetime,  I  tell  you  frankly  that  you  have  flung 
away  your  rights  to  consideration  as  your  father's 
son.  I  am  an  old  man;  but,  by  — by  all  that's 
lioly_I'll  stop  your  tavern-tricks  in  this 
house ! " 

Barnabas    Bradford    decided    swiftly    upon    his 
course,  then  laughed  heartily. 


^h 


J . 


)- 


58 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


*il 


"  My  dear  Mr.  Wharton.  I  had  no  intention  of 
exciting  your  anger,"  he  said.  "  I  am  sorry  that 
you  mi.sunder.stood  me.  Also,  I  am  sorry  that  a 
nasty  way  of  talking,  with  which  I  have  hecn 
cursed  from  birth,  should  ofiFend  any  friend  of 
yours.  I  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  being 
rude  to  Mr.  Temple.  I  spoke  with  the  tongue 
rather  than  with  the  mind.  1  hope  he  will  be 
generous  enough  to  forgive  me." 

Temple  bowed  but  did  not  speak. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Barnabas,  "  I  must  go 
back  to  ti)e  room  that  I  have  ordered  at  William 
Pickard's.  I  have  disturbed  you  sufficiently  for 
one  nighi.  I  shall  be  on  hand  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, you  may  be  sure.  Don't  move,  sir,  I  beg!  I 
know  my  way  to  the  door.  Good  night  all,  and 
pleasant  dreams." 

And  so  Barnabas  Bradford  left  the  house  as  un- 
expectedly as  he  had  entered  it  and  even  more 
swiftly. 

"  T  am  .sorry  for  John,  sorry  for  John,"  mur- 
mured .Asa,  wagging  his  head.  "  But  I'll  go  get  a 
few  winks  of  sleep,  now.  To-morrow'll  be  a  busy 
day  for  all  of  us.  I  reckon." 

Oliver  retired  also;  but  Davie'  and  Temple  sat 
up,  talking  and  playing  chess,  until  broad  day. 
They   were  not  disturbed.     Jim   Martin  had   evi- 


.    T       '-^■*t.- 


rit^nm 


-«,w^-^. 


^|^>^^friF~* " 


TWO  DISTURBING  FACTORS 


59 


dently  reconsidered  his  threat  and  Barnabas  Brad- 
ford gone  quietly  to  rest  at  the  inn. 

It  was  about  half-past  five  in  the  morning  when 
Temple  lay  down  on  a  couch  in  the  study  and  David 
went  out  to  fee<l  the  horses.     David  felt  none  the 
worse  for  his  sleepless  night;   in  fact,  after  a  chilly 
bath  at  the  trough  behind  the  barn,  he  was  as  brisk 
as  a  cricket.     He  fed  the  four  horses  and  the  year- 
ling colt  and  then  walked  down  to  the  gate  that 
opened  on  to  the  highway.     He  had  no  more  than 
propi>ed  his  elbows  on  the  top  bar  when  the  thud- 
ding of  hoofs  on  the  soft  road  caught  his  ear.     A 
horseman  came  into  sight,  riding  loose-reined  on 
a  big  sorrel.     David  vaulted  the  gate  and  dashed 
into  the  road. 

"  Hey !  Hey !  "  he  shouted.  "  What's  the  word  ? 
What's  the  news  ?  " 

The  rider  saw  him  and  swung  his  mount  to  the 
right  a  little.  He  was  a  small  man  in  a  dingy  hat 
and  shabby  coat.  He  came  on  without  drawing 
rein. 

"  It's  commenced,"  he  cried.  "  Yesterday ! 
Muster  at  Benton's  Corner  —  mu.sket.  rations  an' 
ammunition." 

And  now  he  was  past,  hammering  loose-reined 
toward  the  village.  David  gazed  after  him  for  a 
moment,  then  vaulted  the  fence  again  and  ran  to 


w^ 


60 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


the  house.  He  dashed  for  the  front  door,  it  being 
the  nearest  —  and  in  the  httle  porch  he  came  face 
to  face  with  Anne.    He  haUed  and  stared  at  her. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  whispered ;  and  he  saw  that 
her  cheeks  were  colourless.  "  What  did  the  horse- 
man cry  to  you?  " 

"  The  word !  "  he  rephed,  breathlessly.  "  The 
word  to  arm  and  muster !  " 

"  To  go  to  war  —  against  the  King's  regi- 
ments ? " 

"  Yes.  It  has  to  be  —  and  —  and  I  am  glad, 
Anne  —  for  one  reason." 

"Glad,  Davy?" 

"  Yes.  I  am  a  fool.  Anne!  I  —  I  have  allowed 
myself  to  —  to  love  you,  Anne.  Now  the  redcoats 
may  bring  me  to  my  senses !  " 

She  clutched  the  sleeve  of  his  coat.  The  colour 
returned  to  her  cheeks. 

"  And  so  —  because  of  that  —  you  call  yourself 
a  fool,  Davy !  "  she  said.  "  Is  that  —  is  that  a  sign 
of  —  of  foolishness  ?  " 

"  In  my  case.  You  know  it  is,  Anne.  I  am  a 
poor  farmer  —  you  —  you  are  miles  out  of  my 
reach !  Do  not  make  it  harder  for  me  —  Let  me 
go  or  —  or  I'll  kiss  you,  Anne!  " 

She  did  not  loosen  her  hold  on  his  sleeve.  He 
looked  down  at  her  in  wonder. 


sprr!rv 


^ 


TWO  DISTURBING  FACTORS  61 

"  This  is  nut  a  time  for  joking,"  he  said,  ten- 
der'/. 

•'Are  you  joking,  Davy?"     She  looked  up  at 
him. 

"  Anne.  Anne,"  he  whispered,  "  that  is  the  way 
you  looked  at  mc  yesterday." 

"  How,  Davy  ?  " 

"As  if  —  as  if  you  cared." 

"  And  do  you  think  I,  too,  am  a  fool  —  to  care?  " 

"Anne!  Do  you  mear.  —  ?  "  But  at  that  mo- 
ment old  Asa  appeared  in  the  porch,  from  the  hall. 
Anne  darted  past  him  into  the  house. 

"  What  is  it,  Davy ^  What's  the  trouble? "  cried 
the  patriarch. 

"  Well,  sir  —  Anne  —  " 

"  The  man  who  galloped  down  the  road  ?  What 
did  he  tell  you?" 

"  Oh,  the  horseman !  We  are  to  muster  at  Ben- 
ton's Corner,  sir.  under  arms.    It  has  begun!  " 

His  grandfather  gasped  with  astonishment. 
Then  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Well,  Davy,  you  do  certainly  take  it  cool,"  he 
said. 

"  Ves,"  .said  a  voice  behind  David's  b^rk. 
"  Davy  is  just  at  the  age,  sir.  when  girls  appear 
to  ho  larger  than  thrones  or  nations." 

It  was   Barnabas   Bradford,   dressed  as  on  the 


#1 

I 


iMi  !!■ 


th 


■I!' 

r 

I 


62         A  SOLDIER  f)V  VATLEY   I5"0RGE 

previous  night  and  with  his  ridinj;  switch  still  in 
his  liand.     l)a\  id  turned  with  a  grunt. 

"  Ah!    So  it  is  you,  liarnabas."  remarked  Asa. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Iiriijht  and  early,  as  I  promised," 
replied  the  visitor,  cheerfully.  *'  Is  my  father  up 
yet?  .And  is  he  aware  of  my  return  to  my  native 
land?" 

David  turned  and  strode  into  the  house,  bewil- 
dered and  da/cd  with  happiness.  And  yet,  at  the 
core  of  his  joy  there  was  still  a  flaw  of  doubt. 
V\'hat  had  he  said?  Had  she  really  told  him  that 
wonderful  thing?  He  must  find  her  and  make 
sure! 

In  the  porch  Asa  eyed  the  smiling  Barnabas 
sternly. 

"  Oliver  is  telling  your  father,"  he  said.  "  I  had 
not  the  courage  to  administer  the  .shock  to  my  old 
friend." 

"  People  soon  recover  from  such  shocks  of  joy," 
answered  the  other. 

Asa  trembled.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  he 
were  about  to  strike  the  visitor;  but  he  calmed 
himself  quickly. 

"  I  have  my  country's  enemies  to  fight  to-day," 
he  said.  "  I  have  not  the  time  to  soil  my  hands  on 
Barnabas  Bradford." 

He  turned  and  entered  the  house,  leaving  Bama- 


TWO  DISTURBIN(;   FACTORS 


63 


bas  in  the  porch.     He  found  David  in  the  kitchen 
—  and  David  had  not  yet  found  Anne. 

"  Come,  Davy,"  he  said,  "  this  is  no  time  to  help 
get  breakfast.  Saddle  Hero  and  go  up  the  back 
road.  Give  the  word  to  the  Brents,  the  Gaynors 
and  every  liouse  as  far  as  the  swamp.  Your 
dad  and  I'll  wait  for  you  —  an'  your  gun  will 
ho  ready.  Never  mind  the  breakfast,  lad.  You'll 
have  time  for  a  snack  when  you've  done  your 
duty." 

David  stared  at  his  grandfather  for  a  moment. 
Hushed  crim.scjn  and  hurried  from  the  kitchen. 
Three  minutes  later  he  was  galloping  the  big-boned 
Hero  across  the  fields  on  a  short  cut  to  the  back 
road.  High  was  his  mission  and  clear  burned  the 
Haiiie  of  patrioti.«m  in  his  soul  —  but  he  thought 
only  of  Anne! 

Hack  in  the  bright  kitchen  .'Xsa  was  busy  with  the 
three  muskets,  the  bullet-po!iches  and  powder-horns. 
David's  mother,  in  her  efforts  not  to  give  way  to 
tears,  was  laughing  at  nothing  as  she  mixed  the 
batter  for  the  buckwheat  cakes.  Susan,  the  servant. 
was  blubbering  frankly  and  letting  her  tears  fall, 
unheeded,  upon  the  great  griddle  which  she  was 
greasing  over  the  fire. 

"  Man  an'  woman,  old  and  young,  we  must  all  do 
our  duty,"  said  Asa,  oiline  the  hammer  of  his  an- 


Mm 


64 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


f* 


i'.< 


'•I 


HIK 


til 


I* 


cient  but  deadly  musket.  "  Cheer  up,  Susan,  or 
you'll  drown  the  fire.  Bless  niy  soul,  girl,  you'll 
have  us  all  back  afore  you  can  turn  'round,  each 
luggin'  a  great  British  general  on  his  back.  I've 
captured  a  French  general  af(jre  now  —  so  why 
shouldn't  I  get  holt  of  a  British  one?" 

Prudence  laughed  with  more  violence  than  the 
speech  seemed  to  warrant. 

"  And  what  are  we  to  do  with  him,  father,  when 
you  bring  him  in?  "  she  asked. 

"  We'll  make  him  help  at  the  milkin',"  replied 
Asa. 

Just  then  John  Bradford  staggered  into  the 
kitchen,  his  great  face  white  as  his  neckerchief,  fol- 
lowed closely  by  Oliver  and  the  two  girls,  Ruth  and 
Anne. 

"The  chaise!  The  chaise!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
must  be  gone,  old  friend.  The  curse  of  my  life  is 
upon  me  again !  Better  to  deal  with  him  in  my  own 
house  than  here." 

He  swayed  as  he  spoke.  His  daughter  and  Oliver 
supported  him.  Temple  entered,  his  face  flushed 
with  suppressed  anger. 

"  He  has  returned  to  the  tavern  for  his  horse." 
he  said  thickly.  He  already  loathed  this  Barnabas 
—  and  the  knowledge  that  he  was  Anne's  half- 
brother  burned  in  his  heart  like  an  insult. 


TWO  DIST'  aBING  FACTORS 


65 


"  I  hope  to  God  i^e'»  oreak  his  neck!  "  cried  the 
mercliant,  with  blue  lips. 

"  My  friend,"  expostulated  Oliver,  "  my  friend, 
do  not  forget  that  he  is  your  son." 

Ruth  ran  for  liquor.  Prudence  and  Susan,  with 
awe  in  their  faces,  redoubled  their  efforts  toward 
the  preparation  of  breakfast.  Asa  stood  his  musket 
against  the  wall  and  went  out  to  harness  Bradford's 
horse.  Temple  hesitated  for  a  moment,  looked  at 
Anne,  touched  one  of  her  trembling  hands  swiftly 
and  tenderly  with  his  own,  and  then  followed  the 
old  man  to  the  stable. 

Ruth  returned  with  a  glass  of  French  brandy  and 
held  it  to  John  Bradford's  lips.  He  swallowed  part 
of  the  liquor  then  brushed  the  glass  away. 

"  You  are  a  good  child,  Ruth."  he  said  in  a 
broken,  unnatural  voice.  "  And  my  daughter  is  a 
good  child.  But  that  heartless,  sneering,  black- 
browed  devil's  pawn !  Is  he  my  son  ?  Is  he  of  my 
blood  —  that  monster  ?  Nay.  be  is  all  that  woman ! 
My  heart  sickens  at  the  sight  of  him.  And  now, 
friends,  what  think  you  he  has  come  for?  My 
money  —  my  honour  —  my  life  ?  —  nay, — this  time 
be  is  all  smiles  and  soft  words  —  and  the  lies  and 
subtleties  of  the  devil.  He  is  a  rich  man  now  — 
so  be  says;  and  he  says  he  has  come  to  take  my 
daughter  away  with  him  —  to  see  London !  " 


:r«s 


66 


A  SOLDIER  OF   VALLEY   FORGE 


ii; 


Mi* 


■1 

i  K 


'1 

^1? 

'  ■  * 

^'1 

1 

•tf' 

'*( 

:[i 

'  ii 

•'*■ 

■■<' 

.;! 

t 

He  concluued  this  speech  with  terrible  laughter. 
Even  the  stalwart  minister  trembled  at  the  sound. 
He  had  read  of  the  laughter  of  the  damned.  This 
laughter  of  John  Bradford's  was  surely  it! 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  chaise  departed  for 
Boston.  Jolin  Bradford  and  his  daughter  inside, 
and  Temple  riding  at  the  wheel.  'Hiey  were  about 
two  hundred  yards  from  the  farm-gate  when  Bar- 
nabas met  them,  riding  a  splendid  bay  mare.  He 
had  been  thinking  hard  and  swiftly  in  the  past  half- 
hour,  and  had  decided  to  play  a  waiting  game  — 
for  a  time,  at  least.  He  put  aside  the  monstrous, 
dastardly  scheme  that  had  brought  him  home.  This 
young  Englishman  was  worth  watching  —  and  this 
infantile  rebellion  was  worth  considering.  Yes,  the 
wisest  thing  was  to  smooth  things  over,  hide  his 
light  under  a  bushel  and  watch  Eate's  play  for  a 
move  or  two.  Mrybe  Eatc  would  play  a  game  that 
even  he  could  not  improve  upon. 

So  he  halted  the  chaise  with  a  lifted  arm,  tlien 
rode  close  up  to  the  right  wheel.  Leaning  sidewise 
from  the  saddle  he  gazed,  smiling,  upon  his  father. 
John  sat  there  like  a  thing  without  hope  or  life,  his 
checks  lined  and  colourless,  his  eyes  dull,  his  heavy 
shoulders  sagging. 

"  T  am  sorry  to  have  shocked  you  so,"  said  Bar- 


WLv.^ 


•■^3Ks:7L 


TWO  DISTURBING   FACTORS 


«7 


nabas  smoothly.  "  It  was  a  cruel  joke,  I  must  ad- 
mit; but  a  joke,  nevertheless.  In  truth,  I  am  a 
reformed  man,  sir  —  but  as  everyone  seemed  to 
expect  me  to  behave  disgracefully  and  cause  you 
pain,  as  on  so  many  previous  occasions,  I  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  to  give  you  z  fright.  I  am 
sorry.  T  had  not,  nor  have,  the  faintest  intention 
of  trying  to  take  Anne  away  with  me.  'Tis  a  mad 
idea,  on  the  face  of  it!  Come,  sir.  look  more  cheer- 
ful. I'll  cost  you  nothing  more  than  my  bed  and 
board  for  a  few  days  and  shall  be  the  pink  of 
propriety." 

"  What  trick  now?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  None  at  all,  I  assure  you.  sir.  I  mean  to 
try  to  undo  the  wrong  1  have  done  you  in  the 
past." 

"  Words  are  cheap." 

"  True,  sir;  but  did  T  ever  give  you  soft  words 
before  ?  Did  I  ever  before  say  that  I  meant  to  act 
honestly  and  kindly  by  you?" 

i\0. 

"  Then  you  must  now  give  me  a  chance  to  prove 
what  I  say." 

A  faint  tinge  of  colour  returned  to  John's  face. 

"  If  you  mean  kindly  toward  both  of  us,"  said 
Anne,  "  will  you  do  me  a  favour  now?  " 

"  With  pleasure,  little  sister." 


68 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


'ill 


"  Then  come  round  to  this  side.  Let  me  whisper 
a  word  to  you." 

He  rode  round  to  the  other  wlieel,  Temple  eying 
him  coldly  tlie  while.     He  leaned  close  to  Anne. 

"  Take  this  back  to  David,"  she  whispered,  press- 
ing a  scrap  of  folded  paper  into  his  hand.  "  Be 
careful !  It  is  a  secret !  Make  some  excuse  for  go- 
ing back  to  the  farm." 

Barnabas  straightened  himself  in  his  saddle  and 
laughed  good-natureily. 

"  Why,  little  sister,  I  am  not  such  a  terribly  heavy 
drinker  as  that !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  but.  as  you  ask 
it,  and  I  am  ready  for  any  reform,  I  promise  you 
to  reduce  my  allowance  to  three  glasses  of  port  a 
day  and  a  trifle  of  punch  at  night." 

"  Thank  you,  Barnabas,"  said  .^nne,  faintly.  His 
finished  lying,  even  in  her  cause,  shocked  her. 

"  Drive  on,  sir,"  said  Barnabas.  "  Mr.  Temple. 
I'll  overtake  you  in  a  very  few  minutes.  I  have  a 
written  message  for  the  Whartons  from  one  of  their 
fellow-rebels.  Their  orders  are  to  join  a  Captain 
Gibbon's  company  at  Black's  Mill.  l)efore  noon.  The 
man  gave  me  the  message  to  carry  in  such  a  matter- 
of-course  way  that  I  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse." 

And  this,  for  a  wonder,  was  the  truth 

So  Barnabas  Bradford,  with  his  messages  of  love 
and  war,  rode  at  a  canter  up  the  highway. 


•»  ^ 


»  .'ff 


TWO  DISTURBING  FACTORS 


69 


"  Temple  is  the  husband  for  Anne,"  he  reflected 
—  "  at  least  from  a  doting  brother's  point  of  view. 
He  does  not  like  me;  but  I'll  work  round  him. 
W  ish  I  had  suspected,  last  night,  what  I  know  this 
morning  —  that  he  is  the  only  son  of  Sir  Peter 
Temple,  the  richest  man  in  Dorset.  Once  he's  mar- 
ried to  Anne  I'll  discover  plenty  of  ways,  if  I  watch 
him  close,  of  getting  my  fingers  on  some  of  his 
money.  Yes,  that  is  my  game  —  as  far  as  I  can 
see  at  present." 

He  opened  the  note  for  David  and  read :  "  Is  it 
true,  Dear?  I  can  scarcely  believe  it.  Indeed  and 
indeed  I  care!  Send  me  a  letter  to  Boston  — soon. 
Your  Anne." 

"  This  will  not  do,"  said  Barnabas.  "  Master 
David,  out  of  the  cart  you  go!  " 

He  tore  the  note  into  tiny  fragments  and  scat- 
tered them  as  he  rode. 

"  I'll  give  you  her  message  by  word  of  mouth, 
my  high-browed  David,  much  as  it  will  pain  my 
tender  heart  to  do  so,"  he  said,  grinning. 


t 


re 
the  ii  .r^ 


CHAPTER    V 

COLONEL    GIBBON     BLOCKS    THE    KINg's    HIGHWAY 
AGAINST  THE   KING's  REGIMENTS 

Barnabas  Bradford  did  not  get  from  his  saddle, 
but  drew  Captain  Gibbon's  letter  from  his  pocket 
md  handed  it  down  to  the  Reverend  Oliver.  The 
mir^  ^ter.  who  was  already  belted  and  armed,  his 
po  er-horn  on  one  side,  his  bullet-pouch  on  the 
o&  r  and  his  knapsack  on  his  shoulders,  opened  the 
.->r  i?r.  read  it  and  nodded  his  thanks  to  the  mes- 
er.  Asa  was  grinding  an  axe  nearby,  Susan 
tur  ng  the  stone  f(^r  him.  .An  axe,  as  the  veteran 
weii  knew,  h-  a  useful  thing  on  a  campaign  in  rural 
an         Kxle     districts 


joining  us?"  asked  Oliver,  drily,  of 


Boston 


rliat's  difficult  to  say,"  replied  Barnabas. 

'•esent,  anyway.    T  have  some  business  in 

But  where  is  Davy  ?  " 

"  Here  he  comes  now,"  said  the  other,  "  flogging 

old  Hero  across  the  fields.     He  has  been  along  the 

70 


^^^^:s^mk^i^mJJkm^  J^::fM^20L^'l 


COLONEL  GIBBON 


71 


back  road  with  the  word  — and  has  not  had  his 
breakfast  yet,  poor  lad." 

Barnabas  advanced  from  the  farm-yard  to  meet 
David.    Both  drew  rein  as  they  came  knee  to  knee. 

"  Ah !  They've  not  started  yet !  "  exclaimed 
David,  with  relief. 

"You  mean  your  grandfather  and  father?" 

"  No.     Mr.  Bradford  and  Anne." 

"  They  have  gone.  Davy.  They  are  several  miles 
on  the  road  to  Boston,  by  now.  I  rode  back  with 
a  message  for  you  people  from  Captain  Gibbon  — 
and  with  a  puzzling  message  for  you,  Davy,  from 
Anne." 

"Forme?    Puzzling?" 

"  It  puzzles  me,  at  least.  I  had  no  time  to  get 
her  to  explain  it  to  me." 

"  The  message,  quick !  For  God's  sake,  what  is 
it?" 

"  She  said.  '  Tell  Davy  that  it  was  a  joke,  after 
all.  and  that  1  am  sorry.'  " 

Young  Wharton's  face  flamed,  then  darkened. 
His  gray  eyes  seemed  to  change  their  colour.  His 
big  hands  shook  on  the  bridle.  Then  he  laughed, 
liarshly  but  guardedly. 

"  Sorry !  "  he  cried.  "  Well,  so  am  I  —  that  she 
played  it.     But  it  was  a  mighty  fine  joke !  " 

"  So  it  was  only  a  joke,  after  all,"  said  Barnabas. 


I:!- 


I! 


I 

K 
t 

i 


if 


tit! 


r 


t 

•I. 


III 


1 1 


72 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


"  I  am  glad  of  that,  Davy.  1  was  afraid  that  it 
might  be  a  udman's  way  of  saying  something  seri- 
ous. But  I  am  glad  to  learn  that  Anne  is  not  like 
the  women  I  know.  Well,  I  must  warm  leather. 
1  promised  to  overtake  them  without  loss  of  time." 

David  unsaddled  and  stabled  Hero,  dried  the 
good  beast's  wet  and  muddy  legs  with  straw  and 
then  strode  into  the  house.  He  ate  his  breakfast  in 
silence,  his  left  hand  clasped  all  the  while  in  Ruth's 
thin  little  hands.  Prudence  ran  in  twice,  during  the 
meal,  and  pressed  her  lips  briefly  but  passionately 
to  his  forehead. 

"  Well."  said  David,  at  last,  pushing  back  his 
chair  and  squaring  his  shoulders,  "  I  am  going  to 
take  it  out  of  those  redcoats,  by  God !  " 

"  Davy,"  exclaimed  his  sister.  "  Tliat  does  not 
sound  like  you.  I  know  you  will  do  your  duty  — 
but  not  in  that  spirit  and  with  oaths  on  your  lips." 

"  I  feel  like  a  wildcat."  he  retorted,  "  and  I'll 
work  the  feeling  off  on  the  enemies  of  my  native 
land.  Surely  you  have  nothing  to  sav  against  that, 
Ruth." 

He  laughed  constrainedly,  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her  tenderly  and  then  went  quickly  from 
the  room.  Ten  minutes  later  the  brief  farewells 
were  said,  and  tlie  three  men  marched  away  leaving 
the  women  alone   in  the  gray  house  and  desolate 


COLONEL  GIBBON 


78 


sunshine,  leaving  a  sermon  half  written,  the  plow 
in  the  furrow,  a  wonderful  dream  shattered. 

From  Black's  Mill  they  pressed  onward  two  hun- 
dred strong,  headed  by  four  fifers  and  two  drum- 
mers. They  overtook  other  companies  and  groups 
of  stragglers;  and,  six  miles  beyond  the  mill  they 
came  to  a  brigade  commander's  headquarters.  The 
brigadier  was  one  Colonel  Hooker,  a  substantial 
farmer  who,  in  his  younger  days,  had  seen  a  good 
deal  of  fighting  —  of  the  kind  now  known  as  sav- 
age warfare.  For  three  hours  he  had  been  dispatch- 
ing gallopers,  organizing  the  men  who  gathered  in 
from  all  quarters,  authorizing  old  officers  and  select- 
ing new  and  pushing  the  rough-hewn  battalions 
toward  Boston  and  the  issuing  redcoats.  He  fretted 
to  be  at  the  front;  but  this  was  the  work  he  had 
been  ordered  to  do.  so  he  did  it  with  all  his  might. 
His  headquarters  consisted  of  a  barn  and  a  log  hut. 
He  dashed  out  to  meet  the  new  arrivals. 

"  It's  a  regiment,"  he  cried.  "  By  the  Lord!  a 
thumpin'  big  regiment!  Who  commands?  Who  is 
senior  officer?  " 

Captain  Gibbon,  in  half-uniform  of  a  kind,  with 
a  rolled  blanket  on  his  back,  a  sword  at  his  side 
and  a  duck-gun  on  his  shoulder.  ad\anccd  modestly, 
"  ordered  "  the  duck-gun  and  came  to  attention. 

"  I  reckon  I  must  be  the  man,  sir.     Been  a  cap- 


V    "5  »  : 

I  ■   <  ,. 


74 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


■r 

■»,■:•' 
v 


t 


¥ 


tain,  of  one  kind  or  another,  these  twenty  years 
back.  John  Gibbon,  sir,  from  up  Black's  Mill  way," 
he  said. 

"  Very  good,  captain.    How  many  d'you  stand?  '* 

"  Better'n  six  hundred,  sir  —  and  four  hundred 
with  muskets  or  shot-guns.  T'others  have  pitch- 
forks, cutlasses  an'  axes,  colonel." 

"  Tell  your  four  hundred  off  into  companies  of 
eighty  each  —  five  companies.  Strengthen  each 
company  with  forty  of  the  pitch-fork,  cutla.ss  men 
—  and  there  you  are !  That's  how  we  make  armies 
to-day!    How  many  officers  have  you?" 

"  Di.ng  few,  1  reckon,  colonel." 

Hooker  faced  the  regiment. 

"  Any  of  you  who've  been  military  officers  of  any 
kind  whatsumever,  in  any  kinder  army  or  corps  in 
any  part  o'  the  world,  plea^'  take  post  in  front  o' 
the  regiment  —  come  up  here  by  nie,"  he  bawled. 

Nine  men  detached  themselves  from  the  untidy 
ranks,  advanced,  halted  and  saluted.  All  were  past 
forty  years  of  age.  One  must  have  been  eighty  at 
least.  Two  had  been  captains  of  Rangers,  three  had 
been  lieutenants  in  divers  militia  companies  and 
train-bands  and  the  octogenarian  had  been  a  cornet 
of  horse  in  England,  sixty  years  ago.  Two  others 
had  held  the  rank  of  ensign,  somewhere,  in  some- 
thing or  other,  and  the  ninth  had,  in  his  youth, 


COLONEL  GIBBON 


75 


Iiunted  the  French  on  the  high  seas  as  a  midship- 
man in  an  English  frigate. 

All  were  accepted  joyfully  by  Colonel  Hooker. 
To  the  fifty-year-old  midshipman  he  said.  "  Sorry 
we  haven't  a  fleet,  sir;  in  the  meantime  you  must 
take  a  half-company." 

"  Very  good,  .sir,"  replied  Mr.  Warren,  saluting. 
"  I'll  apply  what  1  can  remember  of  shore-drill  and 
boarding  tactics." 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  cried  Col  riel  Hooker.  "  as- 
sist your  commanding  officer  in  telling  oft'  the  five 
cciuipanies.     Captain  Cihbon  ranks,  from  this  min- 
ute, as  a  Lieutenant-Colonel  —  and  the  rank  will 
he  confirmed  by  the  proper  authorities  as  soon  as 
pcjssible.     Captains  Willis  and  Smith,  you  will  act 
as  majors.    We  have  three  lieutenants,  a  cornet  and 
a   senior   ensign    to   command   companies.      Very 
good.     The  cornet  will  take  seniority  of  all  other 
company  officers,  with  the  rank  of  captain.     Take 
notes  of  wh.-'^  I  am  saying,  somebody.    The  remain- 
ing ensign,  Mr.  Van  West,  and  Mr.  Warren,  late 
an  officer  of  the  R  )yal  Navy,  will  take  rank  and 
command  as  senior  lieutenants.    Now  we  need  three 
more  lieutenants,  five  ensigns,  a  quartermaster  and 
a  chaplain.     Colonel  Gibbon,  suggest  some  suitable 
persons  to  fill  these  appointments." 

"  Well,  sir,  there's  a  man  who  has  done  more 


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76 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FOf'.E 


fightin'  than  most  of  us  put  together,  I  reckon," 
rephed  Gibbon,  pointing  to  Asa  Wharton.  "  He 
was  with  Wolfe  in  Ouebec,  sir.  His  name  is  Asd 
Wharton." 

"  Good!  Mr.  Wharton,  I  can  offer  you  the  post 
of  ([uartermaster  or  of  heutenant.  I  know  of  your 
career.  You'll  have  your  regiment  within  a  month. 
Come,  sir,  what  is  your  wish  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  1  can  fight,"  replied  Asa,  advan- 
cing, "  but  I  reckon  I'm  too  old  to  begin  officering 
now." 

"  Not  at  all.  friend.  You  are  needed  on  the 
flank  now,  not  in  the  ranks.  I  haven't  a  sword  for 
you ;  but  I  doubt  not  you'll  pick  one  up  in  a  day  or 
two.  Colonel  Gibbon,  Lieutenant  Wharton  will 
take  a  half-company." 

The  regiment  cheered. 

And  so  the  brigadier  continued,  loud,  alert,  good- 
humoured  and  red  of  face.  He  appointed  the  Rev- 
erend Oliver  Wharton  as  the  new  regiment's  fight- 
ing-parson. After  asking  a  few  questions  of  David, 
he  made  him  an  ensign.  The  commissioned  posts 
were  filled ;  then  he  named  a  regimental  sergeant- 
major  and  left  the  appointment  of  sergeants  and 
corporals  to  the  company's  officers.  While  he  in- 
spected the  arms  of  the  new  regiment  his  staff  drew 
up  a  muster  roll  the  while  the  men  cooked  and  ate 


COLONEL  GIBBON 


77 


their  simple  dinner.  They  were  falling  in,  by  com- 
panies, when  a  galloper  came  dashing  up  with  word 
of  several  brisk  engagements,  the  King's  troops 
pressed  back  toward  Boston  on  four  roads  but  were 
marching  sturdily  along  this  highway,  pestered  by 
a  few  score  of  patriots  but  in  nowise  daunted. 

Ten  minutes  later.  Colonel  Gibbon  heeled  his 
frisky  coh  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  He  had  pur- 
chased it,  within  the  hour,  from  another  patriot. 
He  drew  his  sword.  His  voice  rang  out.  His  hon- 
est face  flamed  with  great  emotion. 

"  The  regiment  will  advance.  By  the  right. 
Quick  — March!" 

The  six  hundred  stepped  off,  each  company  in 
fours.  The  majors,  who  had  also  acquired  char- 
gers, rode  on  the  flanks,  now  to  the  front  and  now 
to  the  rear.  After  the  colonel  marched  "  A  "  com- 
pany, with  its  eighty-year-old  ex-cornet  leading. 
On  the  flank  of  the  "  right  "  half-company  marched 
Asa  Wharton,  on  the  flank  of  the  "  left  "  nis  grand- 
son David.  The  twelve  hundred  feet  stamped  a 
soft  but  mighty  murmur  out  of  the  brown  earth. 
Tlie  sun  glinted  on  the  tines  of  sloped  pitch-forks 
and  glowed  gold  on  the  brown  barrels  of  muskets, 
long  rifles  and  ponderous  fowling-pieces. 

So  for  three  miles  they  marched  and  then  they 
were  halted  in  a  place  where  woods  of  spruce  and 


78         A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


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fir  flanked  tlie  highway.  Two  scouts  were  sent  for- 
ward from  each  company,  in  charge  cf  a  captain. 
The  men  were  allowed  to  fall  out,  but  were  told 
to  keep  in  touch  with  their  section  and  squad  com- 
manders. The  colonel  dismounted  and  called  the 
officers  to  him. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  sai ',  "  there  are  two  battalions 
of  the  enemy  marching  toward  us  on  this  road. 
We've  got  to  stop  them  an'  run  them  back  to  Bos- 
ton. On  other  roads  they're  already  moving  back. 
The  difficult  thing  will  be  to  stop  them.  Once  we've 
stopped  them,  turned  them  and  hammered  them  a  bit 
it  will  be  fairly  easy  to  do  the  rest.  Now,  it's  my 
thought  that,  if  they're  anywheres  handy,  this  is  the 
place  to  halt  them.  We  have  cover  here  —  a  chance 
to  do  some  Injun  fighting.  What  say  you.  gentle- 
men?" 

The  officers  agreed  with  him.  Lieutenant  War- 
ren remarked  that  two  broadsides  would  sink  the 
enemy  if  not  given  too  much  elevation.  Asa  had  a 
suggestion  to  ofifer.  Why  not  fell  trees  across  the 
road  and  so  force  the  redcoats  to  either  climb  over, 
take  to  the  woods  or  turn  back  under  a  smart  fire 
from  cover?  This  suggestion  was  accepted. 
Twenty-five  choppers  were  sent  back  a  distance  of 
a  hundred  yards  or  so.  under  David  Whart->n's 
command,  to  commence  work  on  the  barricade  as 


IHhliaWMtaaimWtWrtMlinM 


COLONEL  GIBBON 


79 


i 


soon  as  something  was  known  of  the  whereabouts 
of  the  two  battahons. 

The  scouts  returned,  with  word  that  the  English 
were  advancing  in  good  order  and  not  more  than 
half  a  mile  away,  with  a  troop  of  dragoons  skir- 
mishing along  the  Hanks  and  far  out  across  the 
fields. 

"  To  cover,"  commanded  the  colonel.  "  Com- 
panies A,  C.  and  E  to  the  right,  in  two  ranks  with 
fifty  paces  interval,  front  ranks  facing  road;  rear 
ranks  facing  t'other  way  —  for  the  dragoons,  per- 
haps. Companies  B  and  D  to  the  left  side,  covering 
intervals  between  companies  on  the  other  side, 
taking  position  as  mentioned.  We  don't  want  to 
shoot  each  other.  Show  markers  on  your  flanks 
until  all  have  taken  position.  Maintain  silence. 
Hold  your  fire  until  I  give  you  the  signal  on  a 
drum." 

The  five  companies  scrambled  into  cover.  David's 
twenty-five  axes  began  to  thud  and  ring.  A  great 
fir  swept  down  from  the  left  and  crashed  its  crown 
to  earth  in  the  opposite  thicket.  A  pine  roared 
down  from  the  other  side.  A  maple,  with  wide- 
spread branches,  fell  in  front  of  these  and  a  ragged 
hemlock  behind  them.  More  spruces,  more  pines, 
more  maples.  Now  the  barricade  was  ten  yards 
wide,  as  high  as  the  wall  of  a  house  and  fully  twice 


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A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


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as  long  as  the  width  of  road.  At  a  shrill  whistle 
from  David  the  axes  ceased  their  barking  and  tlie 
axemen  scrambled  through  the  underbrush  to  join 
their  cH)nipanies.  The  colonel  dismounted,  called  for 
a  drummer  to  come  to  him,  and  then  led  his  colt 
up  the  bank  and  into  the  w(jods. 

At  that  moment  the  banils  of  the  advancing  bat- 
talions struck  up  their  regimental  march.  It 
sounded  very  near  —  just  beyond  that  wooded 
curve.  The  farmers  could  distinguish  the  booming 
of  the  big  drum  from  the  braying  of  the  brass  and 
the  singing  of  the  silver.  The  sound  was  wonder- 
ful, valorous,  awakening. 

"  Darn  my  eyes,  but  that's  fine,"  remarked  a 
youth  with  a  pitch-fork.  "  That  l^e  what  I  calls 
music,  by  gum !  " 

Far  off  ti>  tlie  right  a  bugle  blew  and  was  an- 
swered by  a  bugle  on  the  left. 

"  The  dragoons,"  said  Colonel  Gibbon  to  the 
senior  major.  "  These  woods  run  back  (juite  a  bit 
each  way,  don't  they?" 

"  About  two  miles  on  this  side  an'  clear  to  the 
river  on  the  other."  replied  the  major. 

"  Then  that's  all  right,"  said  the  colonel. 

Scouts  nf  the  advancing  host  appeared,  walking 
singly.  They  slackened  their  pace  as  they  neared 
the  woods.     They  halted.     A  squad  of  six  joined 


COLOxNEL  GIBBON 


81 


tlictn.  then  all  advanced  slowly.  The  band  ceased 
its  heroic  music  and  the  strong  ominous  thunder  of 
the  marching  feet  took  its  place.  An  advanced 
half-company  came  mto  sight.  The  scouts  halted, 
turned  and  went  back  to  meet  the  half-company. 
The  ambushed  farmers  saw,  though  they  could  not 
hear,  questions  asked  and  answered.  A  young  of- 
ficer —  a  boy  of  about  eighteen  years  of  age  —  cried 
out  an  oath  and  advanced  alone.  A  big  sergeant 
ran  after  him  and  walked  at  his  elbow.  These  two 
advanced,  talking  quietly,  glancing  anxiously  from 
right  to  left. 

"  They  are  here,  of  course,"  said  the  ensign, 
suddenly  and  loudly. 

"  Yes,  sir,  of  course,"  replied  the  sergeant. 

"  They  are  not  such  infernal,  demmed  fools  as 
Sir  Herbert  thinks  them." 

"  You  be  right,  sir.  There's  many  an  old  sodger 
amongst  them  rebels,  sir." 

The  two  continued  to  march  forward  steadily  — 
an  exhibition  of  cool,  calculated  bravery  that  awoke 
adnn'ration  in  the  hearts  of  the  watching  patriots. 
The  advanced  half-company  now  got  under  way 
again.  The  lieail  of  the  column  swung  round  the 
curve  of  the  road,  a  glare  of  scarlet  and  white,  a 
flare  of  yellow  and  gold,  a  glitter  of  steel.  Tn  front 
rode  four  officers  on  splendid  chargers.     After  that 


if 


82 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


« .■ 


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:!■!■ 


•T*.  ' 

gorgeous  head  came  the  gorgeous  body  —  the  scar- 
let and  the  white,  and  over  all  the  ice-blue  glitter 
and  twinkle  of  the  bayonets.  Again  the  bugles  of 
tiie  flanking  dragoons  called  and  answered  from  the 
fields.  They  were  nearer  now,  —  behind  the  edges 
of  the  woods,  perliaps.  The  young,  slim  ensign 
and  the  big  sergeant  now  came  in  sight  of  the  vast 
and  tangled  barricade.  They  halted,  spoke  together 
for  a  moment  and  then  turned.  They  began  to  re- 
trace their  steps  as  steadily  as  they  had  advanced. 
The  scouts,  seeing  tliese  tw<j  returning,  halted.  The 
column  continued  to  swing  towards  the  ambush. 

Suddenly  Colonel  Gibbon  stepped  into  the  road 
in  front  of  the  ensign  and  the  .sergeant. 

"  Gentlemen,  my  compliments,"  he  said.  He 
glanced  to  right  and  left.  "  If  any  man  fires  upon 
these  two  l)efore  they  join  their  regiment  I'll  hang 
him  for  mutiny."  he  cried.  The  ensign  bowed  to 
him.  The  sergeant  saluted.  Colonel  Gibbon  re- 
plied in  kind  and  tlicn  ste])ped  back  to  cover  beside 
the  trembling  drummer.  The  underbrush  was  quiet. 
The  sun  beat  hotly  on  the  strip  of  road  where  the 
ensign  and  lu's  companion  walked  shoulder  to  shoul- 
der. Thev  gained  the  edge  of  the  wood.  The  boy 
removed  his  gold-laced  hat  and  bowed  to  right  and 
left. 

"  Thank  you.  gentlemen."  he  said. 


BUB 


COLONEL  GIBBON 


83 


Silence  was  his  answer.  The  two  joined  the 
scouts  —  and  at  that  moment  the  cohimn  haUed. 
The  ensign  walked  up  to  Sir  Herbert  Winter,  the 
commanding  officer. 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  report  an  ambush  of  un- 
known strength,  sir,  and  a  remarkably  difficult 
looking  barricade  across  the  road."  he  said. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Cameron,"  replied  the  baronet. 
Then  he  gave  orders  to  the  mounted  officers  near 
him.  They  turned  and  galloped  back  along  the 
halted,  flaring  column.  In  the  woods  the  farmers 
lay  very  still.  Colonel  Gibbon,  standing  beside 
the  drummer,  mopped  his  face  with  his  handker- 
chief. 

"  Lord !  "  he  breathed,  "  I  wish  they'd  hurry  up. 
Powdei-smoke  would  sweeten  the  air.  I  reckon." 

Bugles  sounded  from  the  British  regiment  and 
were  answered  by  the  bugles  of  the  far-flung  dra- 
goons. The  rear  battalion  left  the  road,  half  taking 
to  the  fields  on  the  left  and  half  to  the  rough  pasture 
on  the  right.  Colonel  Gibbon  could  not  see  the  act, 
but  only  the  stir  and  disorder  of  it.  He  minimized 
the  act.  Beckoning  to  a  young  farmer  who  lay 
near,  he  whispered  to  him  at  length.  The  young 
man  slipped  away  through  the  underbrush.  The 
front  battalion  of  redcoats  moved  forward  again, 
their  muskets  held  at  the  "  ready,"  the  long,  trian- 


84 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


r 


i 


II 


I  'r: 


gular  bayonets  glinting  and  gleaming  from  every 
muzzle.  Tlicy  reached  the  edge  of  the  woods.  I-'ir- 
ing  broke  out  to  right  and  left.  Bugles  blew  the 
"  charge."  F.ight  abreast,  the  Engli.sh  doubled 
along  the  ambushed  road.  Rank  followed  rank. 
The  bugles  changed  their  cry.  The  redcoats  halted, 
formed  line  on  the  right  and  left,  facing  the  silent, 
expectant  ambush  on  botii  sides  of  the  road.  The 
firing  on  the  flanks  had  slackened  up  for  a  moment. 
"  Present,"  sang  the  bugles  —  and  then,  at  a  touch 
from  Colonel  Gibbon,  the  trembling  drummer  in 
the  underbrush  beat  furiously  upon  his  drum.  At 
that  signal,  and  before  the  King's  troops  could  press 
trigger,  lead  and  flame  belched  from  the  coverts 
with  a  terrific  crash.  The  white  smoke  rolled  out, 
lifted,  clung  in  veils  to  the  drooping  branches  of 
spnice  and  fir. 

In  spite  of  that  first  terrible,  point-blank  volley, 
the  battle  of  Abner's  Wood  lasted  a  whole  hour. 
From  the  shambles  that  had  so  lately  been  a  peace- 
ful highway  the  British  dashed  into  the  underbrush, 
advanced  to  the  barricade,  charged  (in  a  few  cases) 
tlirough  the  gaps  between  the  ambushed  companies 
and  so  into  the  deep  woods  beyond.  The  flanking 
battalion,  together  with  forty  dismounted  dragoons, 
also  entered  the  woods.  Here  was  "  Tnjmi  fight- 
ing "  indeed  —  and  the  Colonials  were  better  versed 


COLONEL  GIBBON 


85 


in  this  style  of  warfare  than  the  Englishmen.     But 
it  lasted  for  ati  hour! 

At  the  end  of  that  violent,  choking  hour  the 
hroken  and  torn  battalions  of  the  Kitig  were  in  full 
retreat.  They  carried  with  them  many  of  their 
wounded ;  but  their  dead,  and  not  a  few  important 
prisoners,  were  left  behind.  Among  the  prisoners 
was  Colonel  Sir  Herbert  Winter.  This  courageous 
and  indignant  officer  had  spurred  his  horse  up  the 
bank  and  into  the  tangle  of  underbrush  —  yes,  and 
into  the  very  middle  of  the  eighty-year-old  ex-cor- 
net's company.  There  he  had  fought  furiously  and 
well,  despite  the  natural  obstructions,  until  his  sword 
broke  across  a  musket  and  Lieutenant  Asa  Whar- 
ton dragged  him  from  his  saddle.  His  broken 
sword  was  returned  to  him  by  the  old  farmer.  He 
refu.sed  it  with  a  pitiful  gesture  of  his  left  hand  — 
his  right  arm  was  broken  —  and  sat  down  behind 
the  firing  line.  Among  the  dead  was  the  brave 
young  ensign  who  had  marched  so  steadily  through 
the  ambusli  to  the  barricade  and  back  again. 

Five  Colonials,  mounted  on  captured  horses,  fol- 
lowed the  retreating  English  half-way  to  Boston. 
Seeing  that  the  redcoats  were  not  likely  to  stop  on 
the  way  —  for  every  fence-jog  seemed  to  hide  a 
farmer  bent  upon  hastening  them  townwards  — 
they  returned  to  their  command.    There  was  work 


86 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 


p:^ 


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enough  for  them  on  and  about  the  scene  of  tlie  bat- 
tle. Trendies,  to  receive  the  dead  of  both  sides, 
were  dug  in  the  fields.  The  wounded  had  to  be 
searched  for  among  the  trees,  carried  to  the  open 
and  attended  to.  Fortunately,  three  belated  doctors 
had  joined  the  regiment  during  the  engagement. 
Gallopers,  with  reports,  were  sent  in  every  direction 
save  that  of  Boston.  Camp  was  made.  An  order 
was  received  from  Colonel  Hooker  for  Colonel 
Gibbon  to  remain  in  his  present  position  until 
further  orders.  Word  was  received  from  galloping 
messengers  that  all  the  redcoats  who  had  marched 
out  that  morning,  with  the  exceptions  of  the  dead 
and  captured,  were  now  back  in  Boston. 

Tlie  following  day  was  quiet.  On  the  day  after 
that,  there  being  no  sign  of  the  enemy,  five  men 
from  each  company  were  relieved  from  military 
duty  for  three  days,  that  they  might  sow  their  grain. 
These  returned  and  three  others  were  set  free  for 
the  same  length  of  time  and  purpose.  After  that, 
as  the  King's  regiments  continued  to  sit  tight,  half 
the  men  of  the  regiment  were  permitted  to  return 
to  their  homes  and  farm-work  until  such  time  as 
they  should  be  ordered  back  to  military  duty.  And 
so  the  empty  fields  were  plowed  and  planted,  afier 
all. 

Asa  went  back  to  the  farm  for  three  weeks;  but 


COLONEL  C.IBBON  a? 

the  chaplain  and  David  remained  with  the  regiment. 
David  was  already  the  colonel's  right-hand  man — 
and  a  lieutenant,  to  boot.     His  reading  nn  all  mili- 
tary .subjects  was  standing  him  in  good  stead.     It 
was  he  wlio  organized  the  camp  and  perfected  the 
organization  of  the  companies  —  all  this,  of  course, 
under  the  colonel's   tiamc  and   supervision.     The 
<|uartermaster  took  two   weeks'   leave  and   David 
t"ok  his  duties.     As  the  old  ex-cornet  had  met  his 
<leath  in  that  first  engagement,  his  rank  and  com- 
mand had  fallen  to  Asa;    but  while  Asa  was  on 
leave  David  was  in  command  of  the  company.     In 
fact,  he  was  acting-adjutant,  acting-quartermaster 
and  acting-captain.     He  had  not  much  time  to  de- 
vote to  thoughts  of  Anne  Bradford;  but  he  some- 
times dreamed  of  her. 


CHAPTER    VI 


If !  iNl  J!i- 


'Mi  «^;;i] 


CAPTAIN    BARNABAS   BRADFORD 

The  King's  regiments  were  kept  penned  up  in 
Boston,  after  Lexington  and  the  few  days  of  fight- 
ing which  followed  that  historical  event,  for  the 
greater  part  of  a  year.  Colonel  Gibbon's  regiment 
had  a  long  rest  from  actual  ^varfare  after  that  mad 
hour  at  Abner's  Wood.  At  lasi  he  King's  troops 
sailed  away  from  Boston  and  north  to  Halifax,  in 
Nova  Scotia,  taking  with  them  many  Colonial  loy- 
alists. But  thougli  the  Engli.sh  sailed  away  from 
Boston  in  the  spring  they  sailed  back  to  New  York 
in  the  summer,  drove  the  patriots  out  and  estab- 
lished themselves  —  but  not  without  suffering  con- 
siderable opposition,  of  course.  A  year  later  they 
hammered  their  way  into  Philadelphia.  They  had 
plenty  to  oat.  plenty  to  drink,  and  seemed  to  think 
they  had  plenty  of  time.  They  certainly  took  things 
quietly,  comfortably  —  a  skirmish  in  the  morning, 
a  hand  at  cards  in  the  afternoon,  a  dance  and  supper 
at  night.     It  was  very  pleasant.     The  officers  de- 

88 


CAPTAIN  BARNABAS  BRADFORD        89 

veloped  gout  and  the  rank-and-file  became  plump 
and  short  of  wind ;  and  the  loyal  ladies  and  gentle- 
men had  a  gay  time. 

Needless  to  say,  these  were  not  the  methods  of 
warfare  of  Wolfe  and  other  British  generals  under 
whom  Asa  Wiiarton  and  hundreds  more  of  the 
Continentals  had  learned  to  fight. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that,  in  the  winter  of  1777, 
the  Loyalists  and  British  were  enjoying  high  living 
and  high  jinks  in  Philadelphia  and  New  York  — 
and  General  Washington  was  holding  his  little  army 
together  at  Valley  Forge. 

During  the  two  years  and  eight  months  between 
tiiis  time  and  the  day  of  the  engagement  at  Ab- 
ner's  Wood  much  had  happened  to  the  chief  char- 
acters of  this  history  and  their  affairs.  David 
Wharton  had  been  wounded  during  an  unimport- 
ant skirmish  and  had  been  nursed  and  petted  at 
home  throughout  an  idle  July,  had  shaken  hands 
with  General  W^ashington,  had  filled  a  staff  appoint- 
ment under  Brigadier-General  Hooker,  and  had 
gone  back  to  his  regiment  as  captain  of  "  A  "  Com- 
pany. Colonel  Gibbon  considered  him  his  ablest 
officer.  Both  Asa  and  Oliver  had  spent  much  of 
tlicir  time  on  the  farm,  but  both  held  by  the  regi- 
iTeiit.  Oliver  was  still  chaplain ;  and  Asa  had  ac- 
cepted the  appointment  of  quartermaster,  combined 


iilliis; 


90 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


f^|.  i ' 


3    !f 


i,U 


^'  lif 
1  ■  t, 


-I    if.      ,1 


y   hirnil 


with  that  of  musketry  instructor.  David,  during  all 
this  time,  had  not  seen  Anne  Bradford  or  received 
any  message  from  her.  He  had  heard  of  her,  how- 
ever, and  of  Captain  Temple's  continued  devotion 
—  from  Barnabas  Bradford.  For  Barnabas  Brad- 
ford was  now  an  officer  of  the  American  army  of 
two  years'  standing  and  the  rank  of  captain.  It 
had  taken  Master  Barnabas  just  six  months  to  see 
the  advantage  to  certain  dark  plans  of  his  of  throw- 
ing in  his  lot  with  the  Continentals.  He  had  been 
cordially  accepted  and  presented  with  a  commission ; 
for  the  patriots  considered  it  a  feather  in  their  cap 
to  have  won  over  the  son  of  so  robust  a  Tory  as 
John  Bradford,  once  of  Boston  and  now  of  Phila- 
delphia. Barnabas  had  walked  circumspectly  in  his 
new  duties  and  colours,  displayed  shrewdness  and 
courage  and  won  advancement. 

Barnabas,  as  an  officer  of  Washington's  army, 
lequires  explanation.  Surely  the  fleshpots  of  Gen- 
t-ral  Howe  were  more  to  his  taste  than  the  half- 
rations  of  the  patriots!  But  Barnabas  was  willing 
to  sa».rifice  the  comforts  of  the  moment  to  the  luxu- 
ries of  the  future.  It  had  not  taken  him  long  to 
learn  that,  ever  if  Temple  .should  succeed  in  win- 
ning Anne  for  hi.;  wife,  it  would  be  by  his  own  ef- 
forts and  without  the  hoi])  of  Barnabas.  In  other 
words,  Barnabas  saw  that  he  could  not  influence  his 


CAPTAIN  BARNABAS  BRADFORD        91 

half-sister  by  his  present  tactics  of  love  and  ten- 
derness. Also  lie  learned  that  Temple  was  a  much 
stronger  character  than  he  had  suspected  and  not 
at  all  free  with  his  money.  Try  as  he  would,  he 
could  not  get  on  terms  of  real  friendship  with  the 
Englishman.  He  realized  that  Temple  did  not  like 
him.  When  their  glances  met  there  was  always  a 
little,  icy  glitter  of  scorn  in  the  Englishman's  eyes. 
So  Barnabas  had  reconsidered  his  plans ;  and,  after 
si.x  months  of  reconsidering  and  replanning,  he  had 
said  a  tender  farewell  to  his  father  and  sister, 
slipped  out  of  Boston  and  offered  his  services  to 
General  Washington. 

But  with  such  propriety  had  he  behaved  during 
that  half-year  in  his  father's  house  that  John  re- 
gretted his  departure  more  deeply  than  he  would 
admit  and  even  the  girl  missed  his  diverting  table- 
talk  a  little.    Though  Barnabas  joined  the  reliels  — 
the  half-clad,   half-fed  patriots   who  haunted  the 
bleak  woods  and  fields  around  the  British  strong- 
holds —  he  did  not  throw  himself  into  their  cause 
with   such  absolute   fervour  as  to  lose  sight  and 
touch  of  other  and  more  personal  matters.     No, 
iiideed!     In  his  simple  uniform  of  blue  and  buff, 
his  water-bleached  boots  and  weather-stained  cloak, 
riding  hard,  sleeping  hard  and  eating  poor  fare,  he 
was  still  the  same  old  sixpence  at  heart  —  the  bad 


1 

li 

»•! 

M  ^ 

*'t 

'  '^  1U 

(•4 

W  f 

1 

•'■-ml 


'■I  I 


hS 


i  J;; ; 

n  fir 

'!  Iij  .  ;  . 

|l 


i-ii 


92    A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

sixpence.  The  new  plan  took  shape  and  clearness 
of  outline,  day  by  day,  s  he  went  about  his  duties 
among  his  ill-found,  cou'-ageous  men.  As  he  wrote 
in  his  colonel's  hut,  or  e\  ..i  in  his  general's,  another 
point  of  the  great  plan  would  come  clear  and  he 
would  pause  for  a  moment  from  his  dutiful  writing. 
He  rode  much  and  made  many  useful  maps  — 
many  for  General  Washington  and  a  few  for  him- 
self. A  day  came  when  his  matured  plans  and  his 
duty  joined  hands.  He  rode  into  Philadelphia 
under  a  white  flag  and  with  an  escort,  to  arrange 
an  exchange  of  prisoners.  Business  done,  he  went 
to  his  father's  house.  John  was  not  at  home,  but  he 
saw  Anne.  She  was  to  be  one  of  the  tools  used  in 
the  working  out  of  his  rascally  scheme. 

Though  Barnabas  Bradford  did  not  belong  to 
Colonel  Gibbon's  regiment  yet  he  and  David  Whar- 
ton met  frequently.  .\t  Valley  Forge  they  were 
housed  within  a  stone'>  throw  of  each  other.  Both 
were  captains;  but,  though  David  was  so  greatly 
the  junior  in  age  he  was  the  senior  in  the  service. 
Barnabas  put  himself  to  considerable  pains  to  be 
polite,  even  friendly,  with  the  Whartons.  They 
met  his  advances  half-way  —  that  is  to  say,  they 
were  always  polite.  None  of  them  believed  that  his 
new-found  honesty  was  more  than  skin-deep; 
though  the  Reverend  Oliver  .wu/  he  was  satisfied 


'-^-•sasga^  ^Jl> 


^rr  ^"i  .-7- 


CAPTAIN  BARNABAS  BRADFORD        93 

that  Captain  Bradford's  change  of  heart  was  sin- 
cere. It  was  his  duty,  as  a  man  of  God,  to  try  to 
accept  the  wolf  at  the  value  of  his  sheep's  skin. 
Uarnabas  sometimes  talked  with  David  and  more 
than  once  spoke  of  Anne.  He  mentioned  her  ten- 
derly, but  mournfully.  Once  he  went  so  far  as  to 
say,  "  I  ask  no  questions,  Davy ;  but  I  think  you 
once  felt  more  than  a  friend's  interest  in  Anne. 
You  may  still,  for  all  I  know.  I  want  to  say,  Davy, 
tiiat  you  would  be  my  choice  of  a  husband  for  Anne. 
I  don't  like  Temple  himself  much  better  than  I  like 
his  allegiance." 

"  I  like  Temple."  Davy  had  replied,  steadily. 
"  He  is  not  like  the  majority  of  those  gentry.  He 
seems  to  have  a  broader  mind  and  a  softer  heart. 
Are  he  and  Anne  to  marry  ?  " 

Not  by  so  much  as  the  flicker  of  an  eye-lash  did 
he  show  that  he  cared  —  and  yet  he  still  cared  with 
his  whole  heart. 

One  day,  in  November,  Captain  Temple  went  out 
before  breakfast  to  make  a  reconnaissance.  Captain 
Bradford  was  afield  at  the  same  time  and  on  the 
same  duty.  It  had  been  cleverly  arranged.  In  the 
gray  dawn  Temple  posted  his  men  in  a  little  wood 
and  ordered  them  to  dismount.  He  went  forward 
on  foot  and  was  soon  lost  to  their  view  in  a  rough 
country.     Captain   Bradford,   not   far   away,   also 


m 


'         f    <:    .II- 


it 


:! 


?! 

Is 

i'  i  'I 

1    ( 


I  1! 


i:;:'    !! 


4  -  i-i 


94 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


halted  his  men  and  advanced  alone.  Close  to  a 
broken  hemlock  stump  —  a  noticeable  landmark  — 
he  c^me  face  to  face  with  the  British  officer.  Both 
were  crawling  among  the  fro/en  fern. 

"  Ah!   So  it  is  you?  "  whispered  Barnabas. 

"  Yes.  Your  terms  are  accepted  —  if  it  can  be 
managed.    Any  information?  " 

"  These.  They  are  to  be  burned.  You'll  hear 
again  within  the  month.  No  opportunity  just 
now." 

A  small  packet  passed  from  Bradford's  hand  to 
Temple's. 

"  That  is  all,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  all  for  the  present." 

"  My  men  are  afoot,  captain." 

"  And  mine  mounted.  So  I'll  retreat  and  you 
can  make  a  show  of  following." 

"  Very  good." 

Temple  turned  and  crawled  away,  his  lips  thin 
with  scorn  for  the  traitor  behind  him.  Barnabas 
crouched  silent  and  motionless  for  a  few  seconds, 
smiling,  then  blew  a  shrill  whistle.  His  men  soon 
appeared.  lie  led  them  forward  at  the  double. 
The  handful  of  British  broke  from  their  cover  and 
galloped  away.  A  few  harmless  shots  were  fired. 
Captain  Bradford  marched  back  to  Valley  Forge 
and  reported  a  brief  encounter  with  a  reconnais- 


k 


M 


1 


ik^ 


•vs 


IBllllmMil 


CAPTAIN   BARNABAS   BRADFORD        95 

sance  party  of  the  enemy.  Captain  Temple  rode 
hack  to  town,  spent  an  hour  in  memorizing  the  in- 
formation received  from  Eiarnabas,  burned  the 
papers  and  then  reported,  at  length  and  by  word 
of  mouth,  to  the  general. 

Barnabas  was  a  rascal,  already  a  traitor  by  in- 
tention, an  unnatural  son  and  a  thief  and  liar;  and 
yet  he  was  possessed  of  both  courage  and  energy. 
Having  marched  out  on  his  own  business  so  success- 
fully, he  planned  to  ride  out  on  the  business  of  the 
Continentals.  He  enjoyed  the  excitement  of  danger 
and  the  spice  of  outwitting  his  fellow-men.  In  de- 
veKjping  and  planning  for  his  private  enterprise  he 
had  acquired  a  great  deal  of  information  that  could 
be  used  in  other  ways  without  injury  to  his  schemes 
and  to  fill  in  the  time  of  waiting  with  interest.  Also, 
it  tickled  his  devilish  sort  of  pride  and  hum.our  to 
rise,  day  by  day,  in  the  estimation  of  his  superior 
officers.  So,  one  night,  he  visited  David  Wharton 
in  the  latter's  hut.  Four  other  officers  shared  that 
poor  hut  of  logs  with  Captain  Wharton;  but  two 
of  them  were  now  on  duty  and  two  asleep  in  their 
straw-filled  bunks.  A  fire  of  hemlock  roots  and 
green  spruce  crackled  and  roared  on  the  rough 
hearth. 

"  Davy,"  said  Barnabas,  "  I  can't  find  enough 
work  to  keep  me  busy.     Also.  I  feel  the  shortage 


06 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


1 1 


■ 


mi 


m 


'm 


^i 


4!  ' 


I,  '*» 


I 


-I.' 


I" 


of  food.  What  do  you  say  to  joining  me  in  a  little 
trip  townwards,  to-night,  and  helping  ourselves  to 
a  few  hundredweight  of  Sir  William  Howe's 
supplies?  " 

"  Why,  it  sounds  absolutely  mad,"  said  David. 

"  No,  only  wild,"  returned  Barnabas.  "  Risky, 
of  course,  —  but  neither  mad  nor  hopeless.  I  know 
that  a  wagon-train  of  dressed  beef  and  flour  is  to 
be  hauled  in  to-night  from  a  schooner  that  has  gone 
aground  some  miles  from  its  destination.  The 
schooner  is  breaking  to  pieces  and  Howe,  with  his 
usual  clearness  of  mind,  has  ordered  the  cargo  to 
be  salvaged  and  brought  in  by  land  instead  of  by 
water." 

**  How  did  you  learn  this?  " 

"  I  spent  yesterday  and  to-day  down  in  that  part, 
and  on  the  coast,  scouting  in  the  disguise  of  a  sort 
of  long-shore  loafer." 

"  Lord !    You  ran  a  tremendous  risk !  " 

"  Perhaps  so,"  replied  Barnabas,  smiling  lightly. 
He  knew,  however,  that  the  risk  had  not  been  seri- 
ous. That  part  of  the  country  was  considered  to 
be  quite  safe  from  the  raids  of  the  half-starved,  half- 
frozen  patriots  of  Valley  Forge  and  so  was  indif- 
ferently treated  by  the  British  pickets  and  patrols. 
There  was  nothing  there  for  the  rebels.  Barnabas 
knew  that,  even  had  he  blundered  into  suspicion  and 


CAPTAIN   BARNABAS   BRADFORD        07 

arrest,  he  would  have  been  in  no  clanger  of  hanging 
for  a  spy.  A  word  from  Temple  to  the  general !  — 
I  e  would  have  been  set  free  in  a  minute. 

*'  Well,"  he  continued,  "  I  heard  the  talk  of  the 
men  who  are  to  get  the  cargo  out  and  I  saw  the 
schooner.  Then  I  made  a  study  of  the  road  they 
are  to  haul  on  —  and  of  another  road  and  a  trail 
or  two.     See,  here  is  a  rough  map." 

David  took  the  sketch  and  studied  it  with  interest. 
"  What  is  your  plan  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Then  you'll  join  me?  " 

"  Yes,  if  it  seems  at  all  possible  to  carry  it  out 
and  obtain  some  food." 

Barnabas  leaned  forward  and  spoke  rapidly,  but 
in  a  low  voice,  for  several  minutes. 

"  Will  the  general  allow  us  to  risk  the  men  ?  " 
asked  David. 

"  We  have  not  any  time  to  lose  in  asking  him," 
replied  the  other.  "  If  we  fail  we'll  call  it  recon- 
naissance, and  if  we  succeed  we'll  not  have  to  de- 
fend ourselves,  you  may  be  sure.  Ten  men  are  all 
we  need.  You  pick  five  from  your  company  and  I'll 
take  five  from  mine.  I  have  the  other  things  ready 
—  and  then  twelve  horses.  The  poor  nags !  We'll 
not  do  much  galloping  until  we  head  for  home. 
Bring  your  men  to  the  big  rock  in  fifteen  minutes. 
We  must  warn  the  pickets  we  pass  not  to  open 


1 


I'  1 


!1    ' 
i!    ! 


f 


■II 


98 


A  SOLDIKR  OF   VALLKY   FORGE 


fire  on  us  if  they  hear  us  returning  in  a  hurry  — 
perhaps  with  more  horses  tlian  we  started  out 
with." 

David  selected  five  men  from  liis  company.  The 
httle  party  ^oi  away  without  mishap.  There  was 
snow  on  the  j^round,  but  the  nij^ht  was  fairly  mild 
and  the  sky  chnulcd.  i-'aint  stars  cast  a  fitful,  half- 
radiance  over  the  white  fields,  shadowed  valleys  and 
black  woods.  Tiiey  rode  slowly,  for  the  horses  were 
not  in  die  pink  of  condition  and  so  had  to  be  saved 
for  brisker  work  later.  .As  they  advanced.  Captain 
Bradford  explained  his  plan  of  actidti.  Tickets  and 
guards  were  pas.sed  without  any  tronble.  Bodi 
Barnabas  and  Da\  id  knew  the  country  well;  so, 
after  a  couple  of  hours'  slow  jog-p^ing  the  main  road 
was  left  for  a  narrov/  trail.  By  midnight  the  little 
troop  halted  and  the  two  officers  dismounted  and 
went  forward  on  foot.  Sounds  of  laughter,  swear- 
ing and  shouted  orders  reached  the  ten  men  stand- 
ing motionless  at  their  horses'  heads.  The  captains 
returned  in  about  twenty  minutes. 

"  Just  as  I  cxiiectcd."  said  Barnabas  "  A 
drunken  ser<Teant  is  in  charge  of  the  work  —  and 
the  drunken  skipper  of  the  schooner  is  assisting 
him.  The  officers  arc  in  town,  of  course,  dancing 
and  playing  cards." 

He  took  a  bundle  from  his  saddle-bow,  unrolled 


CAPTAIN   BARNABAS   BRADFORD        99 


it  and  disclosed  two  cloaks  tliat  had  belonjj^ed  to 
British  ofticers  and  two  hats  heavily  braided  with 
gold.  These  he  and  David  donned.  They  nionnted 
their  nags,  gave  final  instructions,  and  rode  out  of 
the  cover. 

"  Leave  most  of  the  talking  to  me."  whispered 
Barnabas.  "  I  know  the  way  they  do  it.  Look 
slightly  tipsy,  if  you  can  on  our  famous  Valley 
I'Virge  water,  and  swear  haughtily  if  spoken  to." 

They  reached  the  last  great  wagon  just  as  it 
started  from  the  beach  for  the  road.  It  was 
dragged  by  four  horses  and  loaded  with  sacks  oi 
Hour  and  meal  and  carcasses  of  beef  and  mutton. 
Six  men  —  the  entire  guard  and  »''  •■  sergeant  — 
sat  on  top  of  tlic  load  with  the  tt  iSter  and  the 
intoxicated  master  of  the  schooner  that  had  brought 
the  supplies  from  the  north.  The  four  horses  were 
big  and  well-fed ;  hut  they  had  to  pull  their  hard 
est  to  get  the  load  uj)  the  bank  to  the  road.  If  the 
\chicle  had  been  an  ordinarv  country  sled  instead 
of  an  army  transport  wagon  the  task  would  have 
been  much  easier. 

Barnabas  Bradford  rode  forward  and  .screamed 
an  oath.  Tlien.  "  Get  off,  you  demmed  lazy  louts!  " 
he  shouted.  "  an'  give  the  horses  a  chance.  Hell's 
pit!   what  d'ye  mean  by  it?  " 

The  astoni.shed   men   (innbled   off  the  load   and 


,;  1 


} 


-     t 


It 


i 


100       A  SOLDIER  OF   VALLEY   FORGE 

lay  hold  of  the  snow-clogged  wheels.  The  team- 
ster cracked  his  whip  and  the  vvigon  reached 
the  top  of  the  hank.  The  two  Contiiientals  rode 
after  it,  IJarnaljas  still  swearing  furiously.  Both 
saw  that  the  muskets  of  the  guard  were  on  the 
wagon. 

So,  for  half  a  mile,  they  truntlled  forward.  Then 
Barnabas  called  a  halt,  so  that  the  horses  might 
recover  their  wind  and  he  swore  at  the  guard  and 
the  sergeant  more  effectively  —  and  for  another 
reason.  .\t  this  point  the  road  branched.  Sud- 
denly, silently,  out  of  the  wof)ds  slipped  ten  men. 
Only  three  of  the  British  liad  time  to  shout;  but 
shcniting  counted  for  nothing  that  night.  Then  one 
of  the  Continentals  took  the  place  of  the  former 
teamster,  the  horses  were  brought  from  the  woods 
and  all  moimted.  The  wagon  rolled  forward  and 
turned  into  the  narrower,  less-used  branch  of  the 
road.  Five  of  the  men.  under  David's  command, 
passed  it  and  rode  ahead.  Barnabas  kept  to  the 
rear  with  his  little  squad.  The  English  guard, 
gagged  in  their  own  great-coats  and  bound  with 
their  own  belts,  were  left  in  the  underbrush  beside 
the  road.  David,  riding  ahead  of  his  men,  w-as 
challenged  twice  —  to  the  misfortune  of  the  chal- 
lenger. 

After  three  hours  of  hard  work  on  the  part  of 


♦■v>: 


Lil 


CAPTAIN   BARf  ABAS  BRADFORD       101 


the  wagon-horses,  half  the  journey  was  accom- 
phshetl.  In  that  time  '.wo  short  cuts  had  been  made 
through  the  woods  on  tracks  of  the  roughest  de- 
scription. On  these  occasions  David  and  his  men 
had  gone  back  to  hdi)  pusli  and  drag  the  wagon 
through.  N(-)w,  with  half  of  tlicir  journey  done, 
they  were  safe  from  attack  in  froiit.  They  rested 
for  half  an  hour,  then  pressed  forward  again,  all 
keeping  close  to  the  precious  load.  David  held  out 
his  hand  to  Barnabas. 

"  I  sincerely  congratulate  you,"  he  said.  "  It 
we*^     ^'.le  bit  of  work." 

Ba  .labas  clasped  his  hand.  "  There  was  really 
very  little  risK,  after  all,"  he  replied,  modestly. 
Then,  with  a  low  reflective  chuckle,  "  I  expect  to 
go  through  with  more  dangerous  games  than  this 
proved  to  be,  before  this  trouble  is  ended,"  he 
added. 

"  Then  I  hope  your  luck  will  hold,"  said  David, 
cordially,  "  and  if  you  think  I  can  help  you,  just 
call  on  me." 

Barnabas  thanked  him,  smiling.  "  If  the  young 
fool  understood  what  I  am  talking  about,"  he 
thought,  "  I  believe  he  would  leap  on  me  and  break 
my  neck  without  a  moment's  hesitation." 

"  Hark !  "  exclaimed  one  of  the  men.  "  What's 
that  noise  ?  " 


!h 


;  I 


}    I 

1 1 


102 


ri 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


':t: 


-i 


I 


They  halted ;  and  for  a  httle  wliile  nothing  was 
heard  except  the  blowing  of  the  weary  horses. 

Then  David  spoke. 

"  1  hear  it.     Ve.s  —  hark  to  that." 

"  (iallopiiig  horses —  far  away." 
Xot  so  far.     The  smnv  deadens  it." 

"  We  had  better  pusli  on,"  said  Barnabas.  "  If 
what  we  hear  happens  to  be  a  mounted  party  of  the 
enemy  on  our  trail  we'll  know  c|uite  soon  enough." 

They  accomplished  another  mile;  and  by  then 
the  sounds  of  ])ursuit  were  unmistakable.  The 
wagon  c(Mitinued  to  roll  ponderously  and  slowly 
along,  followed  by  two  horsemen.  The  ten  others 
turned  and  rode  back  a  distance  of  about  a  hundred 
yards.  Mere  Da\id  and  four  men  ])ressed  their 
way  into  the  woods.  C'ajnain  Bradford  and  his 
four  went  (jn  toward  tiie  enemy  for  another  hun- 
dred yards  or  thereabouts  and  also  entered  the 
woods. 

Twenty  Hessians  spurred  their  winded  horses 
along  the  rough  track.  The  horses  were  fagged, 
the  men  lired,  twig-torn  and  disheartened  by  the 
bom',  the  snow  and  the  unfamiliar  couiurv.  Thev 
cursed  freely.  T  heir  mounts  kicked,  stumbled,  al- 
most lay  down  in  the  miow.  They  would  have 
given  up  the  chase  an  hour  ago,  but  \i  r  tlie  F.nglish 
lieutenant  who  rode  in  front  '.vi  h  tlieir  own  officer. 


CAPTAIN  BARNABAS  BRADFORD      103 


By  now,  liowever,  even  the  oaths  and  taunts  of  the 
Enghshnian  could  not  turn  the  Hessian  captain 
from  liis  determination  to  retire.  He  shouted  a 
command  and  the  twenty  hussars  lialted  and  dis- 
mounted. 

"Another    mile!"    screamed    the    Englishman. 

"One   more  mile   and   we   have   them.      By ! 

captain,  don't  you  know  your  duty  ?  Are  you  con- 
tent to  be  beaten  by  a  handful  of  half-starved,  half- 
armed  colonial  farmers?" 

"  Very  gontent.  Herr  Danby,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain, who  did  not  speak  English  fluently.  "  Dem 
gontent,  mine  frien'.     Absolute!  " 

"  But  there  is  no  danger."  stormed  the  English- 
man. "  All  we  have  to  do  is  overtake  them. 
They'll  run  into  the  woods  like  hares." 

"  Herr  Lieutenant."  returned  the  Hessian  cap- 
tain. "  me  an'  mine  prave  poys,  we  lofTs  danger. 
We  eats  him.     Me?—  I  lifTs  on  smoke  and  plood." 

He  gave  r.  command  and  swung  into  his  saddle. 
His  men  scrambled  into  theirs.  All  pulled  their 
horses  round  for  home. 

"  Slow,  mine  prave  poys.  No  hurry-up."  cau- 
tioned the  captain ;  but  at  that  moment  four  mus- 
kets and  two  pistols  bellowed  in  the  underbrush. 
With  a  yell  of  dismay  the  twenty  hussars  dug  in 
their  spurs  and.  with  their  captain  in  the  van,  went 


i 


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if! 


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104       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

down  the  road  at  a  mad  gallop.  Behind  rode  the 
Englishman,  screaming  curses  at  them ;  begging 
them  to  hall  and  fight ;  threatening  to  shoot  them. 
Another  volley  rang  from  the  woods  behind  — 
David's  contribution  to  the  Hessian  stampede. 

The  sun  was  red  along  the  hilltops  in  the  east 
when  the  loaded  wagon  and  its  escort  crawled  into 
the  camp  at  Valley  Forge.  The  twelve  heroes  of 
the  raid  were  received  with  ringing  cheers. 


CHAPTER   VII 


AMONG  THE  FLESHPOTS  OF  PHILADELPHIA 


Anne  Bradford  had  her  habitation  in  Philadel- 
phia with  her  father.  She  had  made  the  voyage  to 
Halifax  two  years  before,  at  the  time  of  the  Eng- 
lish evacuation  of  Boston;  but  later  she  had  fol- 
lowed the  fortunes  of  her  loyal  father  and  the  Brit- 
ish forces  back  to  New  York  and,  later  still,  to 
Philadelphia.  During  all  these  shiftings  Temple 
had  not  lost  sight  of  her  for  more  than  a  few  weeks 
at  a  time.  He  was  still  the  gentle,  hopeful,  deter- 
mined suitor  for  her  hand ;  but  he  was  not  her  only 
admirer  among  the  British  officers.  Even  in  his 
own  regiment  he  had  three  rivals.  Though  not  the 
only  one,  he  was  the  most  graciously  received  by 
all.  Anne  liked  him,  admired  him  --nd  valued  his 
friendship  highly;  but  her  love  burned  unwaver- 
ing before  the  memory,  and  the  hope,  of  David. 
She  wondered  that  David  had  not  managed  to  com- 
municate with  her.  in  some  way,  in  reply  to  that 
note  of  hers  of  nearly  three  years  ago.     She  won- 

105 


106       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


m\ 


I! 


!!   i'l 


dered  and  grieved,  but  she  trusted.  Perhaps  his 
communications  had  miscarried.  What  more 
hkely?  So  she  prayed  for  him  every  night  and 
morning,  kept  her  dreams  and  longings  secret  and 
showetl  a  brave  face  to  her  father  and  the  gay 
world  that  shut  her  in  from  her  lover.  And  so  it 
had  bcTn  for  close  upon  three  years,  amid  changes, 
travels  and  the  glitter  and  nnisic  of  a  pleasure- 
chasing,  arrogant  military  and  Tory  society. 

About  a  month  after  the  night  of  the  audacious 
capture  of  the  royal  provisicjti-wagon  while  Gen- 
eral Washington  continued  to  hold  his  figged  army 
together  at  Valley  Forge  and  General  Sir  William 
Howe  continued  to  wait  f(jr  that  army  to  starve 
to  death  and  so  peacefully  return  to  its  original 
elements,  a  great  dinner-party  was  going  forward 
in  Sir  William's  house  in  Philadelphia.  Four 
o'clock  was  an  extreniel)  fashionable  dinner  hour; 
but  th.e  British  general-in-chief  had  improved  on 
the  fashion,  and  caused  a  great  stir  among  the 
ladies,  by  nann'ng  five  o'clock  as  the  hour  for  this 
dinner.  Some  conservative  dames  criticised  this 
innovation  severely  —  among  themselves,  of  course; 
but  when  the  new,  outrageous  hour  struck,  and  the 
atmouncement  was  made  by  the  general's  butler  that 
diinier  was  served,  every  guest  was  found  to  be 
present.     The   company   was  a   <  istinguished   one. 


mm 


AMONG   THE  FLESHPOl'S 


107 


Here  were  the  officers  of  the   army,   of  various 
ranks,  who  stood  high  in  Sir  Wilham's  good  books 
at  the  moment.     As  many  officers  had  sent  home 
for  their  wives  and  daughters  to  join  them  in  the 
rigour    of  a  Phikidelphia  campaign,  some  of  these 
ladies  were  of  the  company.     But  a  third  of  the 
company  was  made  up  of  loyal  Colonials  and  the 
women-folk.     The  Bradfords  were  present;    but  it 
is  an  undeniable  tact  that  John  was  the  least  di.s- 
tinguished   person   at   table.      The   other   Loyalists 
were  all  his  superiors  by  birth,  by  achievement  — 
by  everything  but  wealth.     Here  were  gentlemen 
who  fought  actively   for  the  cause   in   which  they 
believed,  who  raised  and  commanded  regiments  in 
that  cause,  and  who  later  moulded  the  fine  begin- 
nings  of  the   northern    British   provinces  of   New 
Brunswick,  Nova  Scotia  and  Ontario.     Thej-  were 
strong  men  who  gave  their  lives  and  their  money 
to  what  they  considered  a  just  cause  —  the  unity 
of  the  British  Empire.     Losing  in  their  old  homes, 
they  and  their  families  carved  out  a  new  empire 
for  the  Crown  in  the  wilderness  to  the  north.     They 
were  not  men  of  John   Bradford's  stamp  e.xactly. 
They  and  their  loyalty  differed  from  him  and  his 
loyalty.     They  stood  by   traditions  —  John  by  his 
money-bags.     Eventually  John  died  in  Boston,  with 
his  property  intact,  the  while  these  loyalists  of  an- 


108       A  SOLDIER  OF   VALLEY   FORGE 


other  and  finer  quality  built  new  homes  and  empires 
in  the  north,  stood  to  their  original  colours  and  left 
their  names  in  history.  All  this,  however,  lies  be- 
yond my  story.  John  Bradford  was  an  honoured 
guest  at  General  Howe's  dinner-table  even  if  his 
name  is  not  now  to  be  found  in  history;  ruid  what 
the  shrewd  and  anxious  mtrchant  lacked  in  dis- 
tinction his  beautiful  daughter  more  than  made  up. 
The  room  was  warm,  and,  as  was  the  custom 
of  the  time,  the  tal)le  was  actually  loaded  with  a 
variety  of  rich  dishes.  Anne,  seated  between  Tem- 
ple and  her  father  in  all  that  glitter,  laughter, 
warmth  and  luxurious  (lisj)lay  of  wines  and  food, 
could  not  keep  her  mind  away  from  thoughts  of 
David  and  the  rebel  camp  at  \"a!ley  Forge.  Phil- 
adelphia was  aware  of  the  half-clrid.  half-fed  con- 
dition of  that  camp,  for  deserters  —  the  weaklings 
of  the  patriot  cause  —  had  brcmglit  in  graphic  de- 
scriptions of  it  Outside,  an  icy  wind  blew,  puffing 
the  bitter  snow  before  it  in  clouds.  .\nne  pictured 
the  frozen  valley,  the  straggling  huts  of  logs, 
David  WMiarton,  crouching  close  to  a  fire,  numb 
with  cold  and  hunger.  What  would  a  plate  of  this 
food  mean  to  him?  —  a  glass  of  this  .Si)anish  wine? 
Comfort,  at  least.  The  casing  of  actual  pain,  per- 
haps —  and  yet  she  had  already  eaten  enough  food 
and  did  not  care  for  the  wine.     If  she  could  but 


AMONG  THE  FLESHPOTS 


109 


U^ 


give  this  to  her  lover!  —  feed  hiin  —  hold  the  j:^Iass 
to  his  lips  !  And  he  was  cold  !  —  shaking  with  cold 
somewhere  outside  in  the  bitter  dark.  But  the  bit- 
ter dark  was  clean  —  cleaner  than  this  warm  glow- 
ing radiance  of  candles,  silver,  gems  and  gleaming 
raiment.  A  sudden  faintness  assailed  her.  She 
turned  a  colourless  face  to  her  father. 

"  Take  me  away,"  she  whispered,  "  I  am  faint." 

She  stood  up,  swaying  a  little.  Mr.  Bradford 
slipped  an  arm  about  her  waist  and  took  her  quickly 
from  the  room  into  the  narrow  hall. 

"  Not  here,"  whispered  .\nne.  "  It  is  hot.  And 
the  servants  —  and  the  clatter.  I  must  sit  down  — 
in  a  cool  place." 

"  The  room  in  front,  on  the  right,"  said  Cap- 
tain Temple.     "  It  is  ([uiet  and  cool." 

They  found  the  place  without  difficulty  and  the 
young  woman  sank  upon  a  chair  by  the  window. 
It  was  a  little  room,  furnished  with  a  few  chairs, 
a  writing-table,  a  faded  carpet,  and  lit  only  by  the 
flames  of  a  moderate  fire  on  the  hearth. 

"  What  can  I  get  you,  dear?  "  asked  John. 

"  Nothing.  It  was  the  heat  —  and  the  food. 
So  much  food  —  and  others  have  none !  T  feel 
stronger  already,  father.     It  is  cooler  here." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  well,  Anne,"  returned 
the    merchant,    anxiously.       "The    [,.ik    slips    so 


4f 
#4    ■ 


A' 

I 
I 

i! 
::| 

'I 

I 

1 


\i 


%i 


)     ■( 


nn 


n  .'■ 


110       A  SOLIJIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

quickly  from  your  cheeks.     I  have  noticed  it  many 
times  of  late." 

"  No!  no!  I  am  perfectly  well;  but  1  need  fresh 
air.  This  little  room  is  cool  and  pleasant.  I  feel 
much  better  now." 

Captain  'rem])le  entered  the  room,  carrying  a 
tray  in  one  hand  and  a  lighted  candle  in  the  other. 
On  the  tray  were  a  goblet  of  water  and  a  small 
glass  of  brandy. 

"  I  made  your  excuses  to  Sir  William,"  he  said, 
"  and  f  have  brought  these  myself,  thinking  you 
might  not  care  to  be  bothered  by  a  servant.  A  sip 
of  the  brandy.  .Anne!  It  is  tlie  general's  best  I 
assure  you.     It  will  brisk  you  up  like  magic." 

Anne  shook  her  head  at  the  brandy  but  drank 
a  little  of  the  water. 

"  It  was  nothing  but  the  heat  of  that  room," 
she  said.  "  I  siiall  rest  here  until  >iie  dnmer  is 
over.  It  is  so  f|uiet  here,  and  cool.  Father,  you 
must  go  back  to  the  company  now  —  and  you,  too, 
George." 

"  I'll  wait  a  few  minutes.  You  may  want  some- 
thing more,"  said  Mr.  Bradford. 

"  They  can  do  very  well  without  me.  for  a  little 
while,"  said  Temple. 

"  Tl-.  fact  i>.  I'm  demmed  glad  to  be  out  of  that 
room  myself,  for  a  little  quiet  and  fresh  air!  "  ex- 


'^-OA^ 


AMONG  THE   FLESHPOTS 


111 


claimed  Bradford.  "  It's  a  great  honour  to  sit  at 
Sir  William's  table,  of  course  —  a  very  great  hon- 
our for  a  simjjle  merchant  like  me  —  but  I  could 
do  very  well.  Captain  Temple,  without  so  much  fine 
feedin"  and  junketin'.  I'd  like  to  see  the  general 
giving  his  mind  more  to  the  field  of  battle  and  less 
to  the  dinner-table." 

"Not  so  loud,  sir!  Not  so  loud.  I  jjray  you," 
cautioned  Temple,  with  a  smile.  "  It  is  not  polite 
to  look  a  gift-horse  in  the  mouth.  Mr.  Bradford." 

"  Then  I'll  si)eak  lower,  George,"  returned  the 
merchant.  "  So  long  as  I  say  what  I  have  to  say, 
that's  all  I  care  about.  I  want  to  ease  my  feelings. 
This  war  will  last  till  the  crack  of  doom  if  the  army 
does  not  change  its  methods.  What  sort  of  war 
do  you  call  it,  anyhow?  Cards,  dinner,  dancing 
and  cards!  Pomp  and  vanity;  food  and  wine; 
wine  and  food!     Bah!    1  could  do  better  myself." 

Captain  Temple  flushed  slightly  and  smiled  at 
Anne.  But  for  Anne,  John  Bradford  would  have 
heard  the  Englishman's  opinion  of  the  Bradford 
variety  oi  loyalty  as  compared  with  the  loyalty  of 
the  other  Colonial  gentlemen  even  now  enjoying 
Sir  William  Howe's  hospitality.  These  gentlemen 
thought  as  Bradford  did,  beyond  a  doubt  —  but  in- 
stead of  blustering  about  the  English  inactivity 
they  set  the  English   an  example  of  energy  anrj 


I 


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r 


^f- 


if      s"  - 


i 


112       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

daring;  an  example  uliich,  by  the  way,  was  ig- 
nored. 

So  'I'cmplc  rtusfied,  smiled  at  tlie  woman  lie  loved 
and  held  his  peace.     John  continued  his  ar;i,nnnent. 

"  .\  little  less  drinking  of  His  Majesty's  health 
in  the  city  parlours  anil  a  little  more  chasing  of 
His  Majesty's  enemies  over  the  helds  and  through 
the  woods  is  what  I  recommend.  But  1  am  not  a 
soldier  — just  a  poor  merchant  and  the  son  of  a 
farmer!  " 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth.  Mr.  Bradford.  I  am  very 
glad  the  general  holds  to  such  mild  and  comfortable 
methods  of  coiKjuering  the  rebels."  rejjlied  Temple, 
good-humouredly.     "I  enjoy  a   fair  fight;    but   I 
am  not  such  a  beast  as  to  enjoy  spilling  the  blood 
of  such  men  as  Washington's  force  is  com[)osed  of. 
They  are   weak   with   cold   and   luinger.     Half  of 
them  are   without   cloaks   or  great-coats  and   half 
without   !x)ots.      They   are  short   of   powder  —  of 
everything  but  an  amazing,  pathetic  courage.     They 
never  refuse  a  fight :    but  it  is  enough  to  wring  a 
heart   of  stone  to  see  them  stand  up  to  receive  a 
charge.     No.  Mr.  Bradford,  T  have  no  stotUc^ch  for 
that  kind  of  work.     I  am  with  Sir  William  in  the 
hope  that  starvation  may  scatter  them,  or  that  some 
other  way  than  slaughter  may  bring  them  to  their 
senses.     They  are  of  English  blood,  after  all;   and 


AMONG  THK   FLESHPOTS 


lis 


when  the  Hessians  j^ct  mixed  up  with  them  my 
heart  is  all  with  the  cnotny  —  with  viic  men  of  my 
own  race." 

"  That  is  all  very  well  f(ir  poetry."  returned  Mr. 
Bradford,  "hut  it  is  demmcd  poor  sense!  Yes,  sir 
—  more  the  talk  of  a  iK)ct  than  a  soldier.  Get  after 
'em,  say  I!  Ride  'em  down!  Cut  'em  to  pieces! 
Fight,  sir.  Put  the  cold  and  heavy  iron  to  'em  — 
sahre,  hayonet,  powder  and  lead  —  or,  by  the 
Lord  Harry  —  they'll  keep  you  hedged  'round 
your  dinner-tables  until  the  pit  of  hell  freezes 
over." 

"My  dear  sir,  what  a  fire-eater  you  are!"  re- 
torted Captain  Temple,  laughing  a  little. 

"Fudge!"  exclaimed  Bradford.  "Well,  Anne, 
as  you  do  not  seem  to  require  my  assistance  I'll 
just  step  back  to  the  table.  Slow  as  Sir  William 
is,  no  doubt  he'll  accomi)lish  his  task  some  day; 
so  I  must  keep  on  the  right  side  of  him.  I  shall 
need  his  help,  no  doubt,  to  get  redress  of  los.ses  from 
Parliament  —  especially  as  my  worthy  son  Barna- 
bas is  proving  himself  such  a  lusty  rebel.  Can't 
understand  Barnabas!  Has  the  leopard  changed 
his  spots?    I  trow  not!  " 

Mr.  John  Bradford  left  the  little  room  and 
marched  back  to  his  seat  at  the  commander-in- 
chief's  dinner-table.      As   the   door  closed   behind 


•31 


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I 

3, 


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III 


■II  I 


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III       A  SOLDIER  OK  VALLEY  FORGE 

liim,  Anne  said,  "  You  do  not  think  very  higlily 
of  my  father.  (ic(>rj;c." 

"  My  dear  Antic!  "  he  expostulated.  "  What  an 
idea!  I  consider  him  an  honest  man  —  and  a  lov- 
ing father  tu  you,  niy  dear  lady." 

"  F.ven  s(.,  you  do  not  think  very  highly  of  him." 

"  Well  —  I  do  not  con.sider  him  a  hero,  exactly." 

"  Who  are  the  heroes  of  this  trouhle?  " 

"  The    rehel    general    is    one  —  W\ashington,      I 

don't  deny  it.     Our  old   friends  the  Whartons  are 

of  heroic  fihre.     Among  tiiose  poor,  mistaken  devils 

there  are  hundreds  of  misguided  heroes.     And  on 

our   side?  — well,   our   heroes   are   Colonials,   too! 

There  are  four  or  five  of  them  in  the  dining-room. 

now  —  hut  not  my  honest  Mr.  Rradford.  .\nne." 

"  No,  my  father  is  all  for  him.self,"  she  replied, 
quietly.  "  He  has  not  much  imagination.  He  can- 
not dream  great  dream.-.,  li^  -  the  great  loyalists  and 
the  great  rehels.  They  think  of  nations  —  and  he 
of  his  money-hags."  She  sighed.  "  And  you  think 
Washington  a  hero?  " 

"  Yes.  A  mad  one ;  hut  a  hero.  He  is  a  rebel 
against  his  king  —  hut  a  great  soldier  and  a  fine 
man." 

".And  yet  —  and  yet  you  wo-.ild  capture  him? 
T.ead  him  to  trial  hy  his  enemies?  " 

"  Yes  —  for  he   is   the   rebel-chief  and    T   am   a 


AMONC.  THE   FLESHI»OTS 


116 


King's  officer.  It  is  my  duty  —  and  chance  seems 
to  have  selected  inc  as  her  apcnt  in  tliis  matter. 
W^ith  VV^ashin^ton  captured,  the  war  is  ended.  I 
am  sorry  for  Washington;  but  tlie  good  will  far 
outweigh  the  evil." 

"  You  are  right,  no  douht,"  replied  Anne;  "but 
T  am  sorry  I  listened  to  Barnabas.  But  I  fear  him 
so  —  and  he  gave  me  his  promise,  on  the  Bible, 
that  if  I  did  my  part  he  would  never  again  perse- 
cute me  or  my  father.  My  part  was  to  ask  you  to 
help  him  in  his  design  —  and  now  1  wish  to  God 
my  tongue  had  withered  in  my  mouth  before  I  had 
asked  you !  " 

"  Anne!   Anne!  are  you.  too.  a  rebel?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  rebel.  Let  the  King  have  what 
is  his.  I  say,  and  govern  his  own  justly.  But  even 
you  have  said  that  my  father  is  an  honest  man  — 
and  my  mother  was  a  cousin  of  one  of  those  i^rcat 
Loyalists  in  tne  dming-room  yonder.  She  was 
noble  —  by  the  New  F.ngland  standard  of  nobility. 
And  now  T  have  plotted  with  a  traitor  against  a 
hero!    Is  that  noble?  —  or  even  honest?" 

The  blood  brightened   in  Temple's  thin  cheeks. 

"  My  dear."  he  said,  "  the  sword  with  which 
you  wound  yourself  is  double-edged.  You  cut  me 
deep,  Anne!  " 

"  No,  I  do  not  mean  that.     It  is  your  duty  to 


ijr  S 


u 


1 

•    P  si" 


116        A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

serve  blindly  in  this  matter  —  to  serve,  no  matter 
what  the  tools  that  come  to  your  hands.  You  arc 
an  Enghshman,  and  pledged  to  the  King-.  But  if 
warfare  is  not  a  woman's  work,  what  right  have 
I  tt)  assist  in  bringing  this  war  to  a  close .^  The 
risk  is  not  mine.  Mine  is  the  hidden  hand  —  the 
ct)ward's  work  hut  deadly  stroke!  Y^oii  go  openly 
in  the  uniforni  that  lets  the  whole  world  know  you 
for  Washington's  enemy;  but  I  —  God!  what 
business  have  /  with  redcoats  or  blue!  Fven  Bar- 
nabas does  not  take  so  ignoble  a  part  as  I  —  for 
he  runs  a  great  risk  —  is  exposed  to  the  danger." 

"Barnabas!"  exclaimed  the  Englishman, 
harshly.     "  He  is  a  traitor!  —  a  liar!  —  a  rogue!  " 

"  -And  yet  our  companion  in  this  plot  to  capture 
Washington  and  ruin  the  cause  of  the  Continen- 
tals." 

"  Ves  —  he  is  my  associate  in  the  scheme.  But, 
he  is  not  yours.  .Anne!  You  have  tiothing  to  do 
with  it.  You  but  delivered  a  message  to  me.  If 
we  lose,  or  if  we  win.  your  hands  are  clean  of  the 
dust  of  victory  or  of  defeat  —  you  are  clean  of 
as.sociation  with  that  black  traitor!" 

"  Clean  ?  "  she  whispered.  "  You  may  be  gener- 
ous enough  to  call  lue  so.  George;  but  what  I  have 
already  done  —  what  I  did  for  fear  of  Barnabas 
—  cannot  be  undone." 


AMONG  THE  FLESH  POTS 


117 


"  You  are  overwrought,"  he  repHed,  tenderly. 
"  Vou  are  still  weak  from  the  heat  of  that  room. 
And  you  hpve  been  brooding  over  this  thing.  All 
ihac  you  d'd,  Anne,  good  or  evil,  was  give  me  a 
message  from  —  from  the  miserable  fellow  who 
has  been  given  me  by  chance  as  a  tool.  But  I,  too, 
am  SOI  ry  that  the  message  should  have  come  to  me 
through  you.  The  thing  must  be  carried  through, 
though  —  and  the  sooner  the  better,  say  I." 

At  that  moment,  above  the  muffled  sounds  in  the 
had  —  the  clatter  of  dishes  and  the  passing  and 
repassing  of  servants  —  breaks  the  clang  of  a  heavy 
door.     Both  heard  it  in  the  little  waiting-room. 

"  The  front  door,"  said  Captain  Temple.  "  It  is 
not  a  l>elated  guest,  so  it  must  be  business  of  some 
sort.  Report  of  a  skirmish,  perhaps,  or  of  a  spy 
captured." 

Someone  rapped  on  the  door  that  led  to  the 
hall. 

"  Come  in,"  cried  Temple. 

An  orderly-room  sergeant  entered  and  stood  at 
attention. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "  but  the  officer  of 
the  day  has  sent  on  a  rebel  officer  and  his  escort, 
sir,  under  flag  of  truce.  He  wishes  to  see  the 
General,  sir,  concerning  the  immediate  exchange  of 
our  Major  Burton  for  the  rebel  Major  Carr." 


ill 


m 


hit.' 


118       A  SOLDIER  OF  ViiLLEY  FORGE 

'■  Show  the  ofificer  in  here  and  give  his  escort 
cover  in  the  carriage-house,"  rephed  the  captain. 
"  I  will  go  and  speak  to  Sir  William." 

"  Very  good,  sir  "  —  and  the  sergeant  retired. 

IVnipIc  took  Anne's  right  hand,  stooped  swiftly 
and  touched  his  lips  to  it. 

"  Shall  1  take  you  back  now?  "  he  asked.  "  The 
diiHKT  must  be  nearly  over  —  all  but  the  port  and 
punch." 

"  No,  the  room  is  too  warm." 

"Then  to  the  drawing-room?  The  ladies  will 
soon  join  you  there." 

"  No,  no.  Leave  me  here  where  it  is  cool  and 
quiet." 

"  But  this  stranger^     This  rebel  officer?" 

"^  do  n(;t  think  he  will  bite  me,  Ge(jrge  —  and 
you  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  harm  him." 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,  Anne:  but  very 
likely  the  poor  devil  is  hungry  enough  to  bite 
you." 

Temjjle  left  the  room.  The  fire  had  fallen,  by 
now,  to  bars  of  crimson  and  scarlet  coals.  The 
single  candle,  in  its  squat  silver  stick,  scarce  illu- 
minated more  than  the  table,  in  the  centre  oi  which 
Temple  had  placed  it.  Beside  the  candle  stood  the 
tray  with  its  t\.o  glasses  containing  the  tasted  water 
and  the  untasted  brandy.     Anne  sat  in  the  shadow, 


1 


AMONG  THE   FLESHPOTS 


110 


by  the  black  scjuare  of  the  window,  gazing  at  the 
candle's  smoking  llanie.  The  candle  needed  snuff- 
ing;  but  she  did  not  notice  it. 

"  I  wonder  —  1  wonder  if  this  oftker  c"n  tell  me 
anything  of  David,"  she  w^hispered. 

The  door  opened  and  a  tall,  cloaked  figure  en- 
tered. 

"  Will  you  be  pleased  to  wait  here,  sir?  Captain 
Temple  has  gone  to  the  general,"  said  the  orderly- 
sergeant. 

"  My  men?  "  began  the  visitor. 

"  I  have  received  orders  to  find  them  shelter, 
sir." 

The  door  closed.  The  rebel  ofTicer  crossed  the 
room  to  the  hearth.  Standing  there,  the  subdued 
lights  of  falling  fire  and  unsnuffed  candle  disclosed 
him  dimly  to  the  woman  at  the  window.  She  could 
see  the  torn  boot  which  he  advanced  to  the  glowing 
coals,  the  long  folds  of  his  cloak,  a  gloved  hand, 
the  gleam  of  a  trailing  scabbard.  His  shoulders 
and  face  were  in  the  upper  shadow.  She  felt  nerv- 
ous —  almost  frightened.  He  thought  himself 
alone  in  the  room  and  so  leaned  against  the  chim- 
ney and  sighed  desolately.  Suddenly  he  turned  and 
put  out  a  hand  to  snuflF  the  candle.  He  accom- 
plished it  neatly  with  a  gloved  thumb  and  finger. 
The  flame  returned,  clear  and  steadv.    Anne,  watch- 


»5li 


i 
'}  11 


1< 


mfi 


m 


n 


I 


k  i 


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; 


(■■    1  ! 


::N:y: 


I'* 

r 


M 


.  -  4 


120       A  SOLDIER  OF  VA         V  FORGE 

ing  the  man  wi'lli  anxious  fascination,  as  if  spell- 
bound, saw  liis  hand  go  out  to  the  little  glass  of 
brandy.  The  high  collar  of  his  cloak  wa-^  hooked 
at  the  chin  and  hid  the  side  of  his  face  to  his 
cars.  The  hand  that  lifted  the  glass  trembled  vio- 
lently. 

"  Brandy!  "  he  whispered.  "  Fire  and  strength! 
My  God!  —  but  FlI  have  none  of  it.  uninvited." 

He  replaced  the  glass  on  the  tray. 

"Oh.  please!"  exclaimed  Anne.  "Please  drink 
it.     You  need  it,  I  know." 

The  officer  turned  swiftly  and  faced  her.  His 
back  was  against  the  steady,  subdued  light  of  the 
candle.  Standing  thus,  and  muffled  in  his  great 
coat,  he  looked  like  a  black,  gigantic  shadow. 

"  Who  is  there?  "  he  whispered.  "  Ah!  a  lady. 
Your  servant,  madam." 

"  I  am  John  Bradford's  daughter.  You  —  you 
are  an  officer  of  General  Washington's,  sir?  " 

"  Yes.  Miss  Bradford.  At  your  service."  His 
voice  was  little  more  than  a  thick  whisper. 

"  Tlieii  tell  me  — if  you  know  anything  of — 
David  Wharton." 

"  Wharton !  Yes.  T  know  of  him.  We  are  close 
companions." 

"  Ts  he  well  —  and  happy?  " 

"He   is    in    fair   health  —  and   as   happy   as  — 


AMONG  THE  FLESHPOTS 


121 


as  some  of  us.  He  has  his  work.  Why  do  you 
ask?" 

"  We  were  —  friends." 

"Friends?" 

"  Yes.    Very,  very  dear  ;  i  iends." 

The  man  stepped  forward. 

"Anne!"  he  exclaimed.  "Anne!  For  God's 
sake!  —  what  do  you  mean?  Is  this  another  — 
joke?  " 

"Davy!    You!" 

In  a  second  she  was  standing  before  him,  close 
to  him,  eyes  and  hair  aglow  in  the  twilight,  white 
arms  and  breast  agleam  —  a  glorious,  intcjxicating 
vision  to  the  man  from  Valley  Forge.  His  love 
leaped  up  in  his  blood  and  brain  like  fire.  He 
trembled,  but  stood  motionless. 

"  You  said  it  was  all  a  joke  Why  do  you  look 
at  me  so?  It  was  —  a  cruel  joke."  His  voice  was 
low  and  flat. 

"  .\  joke?  Why  do  you  speak  so  to  me.  Daw? 
\Miy  —  why  stand  there  —  so  coldly?  " 

"  You  sent  Barnabas  back  to  the  farm,  that 
day,  to  tell  me  it  had  all  been  play  on  your 
part  —  all  a  joke !  Have  you  forgotten  it  ? 
Have  you  forgotten  even  your  joke  at  my  ex- 
pense? " 

"  It  is  a  lie!     Davy  —  it  is  a  lie!    Why  did  you 


i'i 


V 


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i   '• 


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■ '   i 

li     '■  V I 

4  ■  I  '  i  I 


1,1 


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i»  Til'      I .. 


122   A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

trust  him?  I  sent  a  written  message,  that  day 
—  to  tell  you  it  was  all  true  —  my  love  for 
you." 

"  My  God  •  And  now  ?    And  now,  Anne  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  ehanged." 

He  crushed  her  to  his  breast  and  pressed  his  Hps 
to  her  bright  and  fragrant  liair.  He  felt  strong, 
now.  The  need  of  brandy  and  external  heat  had 
passed.  Line  glowed  to  hini.  through  his  weather- 
worn cloak  and  shabby  uniform,  from  Anne's  slen- 
der body.  He  felt  the  caress  of  her  fluttering 
breath  upon  his  throat. 

Anne,  with  her  face  pressed  to  that  rough  cloak, 
smelt  there  the  wild  bitterness  of  the  smoke  of  many 
bivouac  fires,  the  clean,  harsh  fragrance  of  frost, 
the  finger-marks  of  snow,  rain  and  wind.  And  this, 
she  reflected,  was  sweeter  and  manlier  than  the 
odour  of  over-crowded,  candle  lit  rooms  and  rich 
foods. 

They  heard  a  sound  at  the  door.  Arms  were  un- 
clasped. David  turned  and  stepped  forward  to  the 
table.  .\nne  glided  to  her  seat  by  the  window.  An 
orderly  entered. 

"  Tlie  general's  compliments,  sir."  he  said,  "  and 
he  begs  you  to  come  to  the  dining-room,  sir.  The 
ladies  have  wn'thdrawn  and  he  is  alone  with  the 
gentlemen,  "ir." 


AMONG  THE  FLESHPOTS 


123 


David  followed  tlie  man  from  the  room.  The 
door  closed  behind  them.  Anne  leaned  forward  in 
her  chair  and  touched  her  forehead  to  the  cold  glass 
of  the  window. 

■'  Will  he  come  back?"  she  whispered.  "  Shall 
I  see  him  again  before  he  goes  ?  Oh !  1  must !  I 
must!  He  goes  back  to  danger  and  hardship  — 
and  the  frozen  darkness." 

She  left  her  chair  and  went  over  to  the  hearth. 
She  placed  a  slender,  satin  slipper  on  the  tile  where 
his  heavy,  worn  riding-boot  had  rested  such  a  little 
while  before.  There  was  a  little  pool  of  water  on 
the  tile  —  of  melted  snow  and  frost.  The  chill 
moisture  of  it  crept  through  her  thin  slipper  and  the 
inner  silk.  She  rejoiced  in  the  discomfort  of  it. 
Tears  sprang  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  must  —  I  shall  —  see  him  again  before  he 
leaves  this  house!  "  she  said. 

The  door  opened  and  Captain  Temple  looked  into 
the  room. 

"What?  You  are  still  here,  Anne!"  he  ex- 
clamied.  "  The  ladies  have  left  the  table  to  the 
wine-bibbers.  The  dancing  will  commence  in  half 
an  hour." 

He  entered  and  crossed  the  floor  to  her  side. 
She  turned  her  face  to  him. 

"Good   Heavens!    how  beautiful  you  are,"  he 


I 


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i 


It 


m 


m 


H 


i        ./ 


^1 


^  1    . 


'    if 


124       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

whispered.  *' What  has  happened?  Your  eyes  are 
as  bright  as  stars.  Anne,  your  cheeks  i  pink  as 
roses." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  rebel  officer,  George?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Yes.  It  is  our  friend,  David  Wharton.  He  is 
Captain  Wharton,  innv  —  and  a  denuned  fine,  up- 
standing young  man !  But  why  are  your  cheeks  so 
bright,  dear  .Anne?  Is  —  is  there  any  hope  for  me 
—  if  I  ask  you  again,  now?  It  is  days  and  days, 
dear,  since  last  I  asked  vou." 

He  took  one  of  her  hands  between  both  of  his. 
She  did  not  withdraw  it. 

"  George,  T  have  seen  the  rebel  —  and  spoken 
with  him,"  she  said  in  a  shaking  voice.  "  Don't 
you  understand?  Ah.  please  understand,  my  dear 
friend !  " 

"  .Anne !  You  have  told  him  of  —  of  the  plot 
against  — ?  " 

"Xo!  No!  That  — T  forgot  it.  But  do  you 
think  my  heart  is  of  wood?  Why  —  why  have  I 
not  learned  to?  —  Oh,  George,  don't  you  see  that 
I  love  him !  —  have  always  loved  him !  " 

"'My  God!  Who  is  it,  Anne?  What  d'you 
mean?  " 

"1  love  —  David  Wharton.  .And  he  loves  me. 
Long  ago  Barnabas  told  him  that  —  that  I  did  not 


■"'.0,.'» 


AMONG  THE   TLESHPOTS 


125 


really  care -and  so,  for  these  three  years  I  have 
received  no  word  from  him." 

Captain  Temple  did  not  indulge  in  a  second  out- 
burst of  dismay.  He  was  very  quiet.  His  face  was 
in  the  shadow.  He  patted  the  hand  that  lay  between 
his  own,  then  released  it  gently.  He  turned  away 
and  so  stood,  motionless  and  silent.  The  girl's 
heart  smote  her. 

"  Please,  plea.se  forgive  me  —  if  I  have  hurt  you," 
she  whispered.  "  I  have  always  told  you  —  you 
know,  my  dear  friend  —  that  I  did  not  love  you. 
But  it  is  my  —  my  wicked  fault.  I  should  not  have 
allowed  myself  to  —  to  even  like  you!  " 

■'  No.  It  is  entirely  my  fault,"  he  answered, 
quietly.  "  I  do  not  regret  it  —  not  a  minute,  nor 
a  pang  of  it!  But  you  must  remember,  my  dear, 
that  though  another  man  has  won  the  —  the  honour 
of  being  your  lover,  I  still  claim  the  honour  of  being 
your  —  friend." 

"  I  hold  it  precious,"  she  replied,  faintly.  "  My 
friend;    and  you  are  his  friend,  too?" 

"  Yes.  In  another  —  degree.  All  the  Whartons 
are  my  friends." 

He  turned  and  kissed  her  hands,  and  turned 
away  from  her  again  before  she  could  see  his  face. 

"  You  will  want  to  see  him  again  before  he  rides 
back  to  Valley  Forge,"  he  said.     "  So  I  will  go  to 


i 
I? 


:■  I 


I 


t.i 


if 


« '  it. 


I  Hi 


126        A   SOLDIER   OF   V\M,FY   FORGE 

the  dining-n.0111  now,  ami  when  Sir  William  is  done 
with  him  1  will  —  hring  him  here." 

lie  crossed  the  room  swiftly  and  opened  the  door. 
On  the  threshold  he  turned  and  Ixnved,  then  stepped 
back  in  the  f'eam  and  shadows  of  tlie  hall  and 
closed  the  door. 


liirl 


i 


1 1 


i 


CHAPTER    VIII 


CAPTAIN   DAVID  WHARTON   AND  THE  TWO  GENERALS 


Sir  William  Howe,  commander-in-chief  of  the 
King's  forces  in  America,  received  General  Wash- 
ington's representative  with  every  mark  of  pohte- 
ness,  bowed  him  to  a  chair  at  the  table,  and  forced 
him  to  take  wine,  first  with  himself  (Sir  William), 
and  then  with  the  company  in  general.  He  then 
heard  what  Captain  Wharton  had  to  say,  read  the 
communications  from  Washington,  scratched  his 
nose  and  nodded  his  head. 

"  Very  fair,  very  fair  indeed,"  he  said.  "  And 
demmed  civilly  stated.  The  man  is  a  gentleman, 
evidently.     Yes,  yes,  of  course!  " 

"  Am  I  to  take  back  a  verbal  or  a  written  mes- 
sage, sir?"  asked  David. 

"  Both,  my  dear  sir,  both,"  returned  the  general. 
"  'Tis  an  important  matter.  I  shall  be  delighted  to 
make  the  exchange  —  to-morrow,  if  convenient  for 
you  to  bring  in  your  prisoner.  You  must  give  my 
compliments  to  your  commander,  George  Washing- 

127 


f!l! 


V  V-'- 


If; 


'  I  ! 


128       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

ton.  and  ti.ll  Iiiin  that,  if  "twas  iiut  tor  the  miscon- 
struction the  biisybodies  in  I'jigland  would  put  on 
the  act,  Td  he  proud  to  have  iiiin  to  diinier  with  nie. 
l-'ill  your  j;lass.  my  dear  sir.  'Tis  a  ^ound  vintajje. 
1  asMue  you.  Barrin<;ton.  a  (luill,  paper  and  ink! 
faptain,  try  that  guava  jelly,  fresh  up  from  Bar- 
hadoes.  It  is  a  }j[ood  jelly.  Come.  sir.  don't  feel 
shv  of  my  wine  and  jellies.  I  atii  not  your  enemy 
while  you  sit  at  my  mahoj;any-tree.  \'auj;hn,  I  fuid 
that  punch  a  thought  heavy,  to-night  —  ay.  and  a 
thought  too  sweet.  Judge  W'inslow.  yt)ur  healtii ! 
C'.entlemen.  remember  your  legs!  There's  dancing 
ahead  of  you." 

Captain  Barringtun.  .\.  I).  C,  arrived  with  pen, 
ink  and  paper.  He  cleared  dishes  and  glasses  aside 
froin  in  front  of  the  general  and  put  down  the 
writing  materials. 

Sir  William  tlipped  the  pen  and  scjuared  his  el- 
bows. 

"  Now,  how  tlie  devil  am  I  to  begin?  "  he  asked, 
plucking  his  lips.  "Let  me  see.  My  dear  Sir? 
My  dear  Rebel?  My  dear  Mr.  Washington? 
Demn  it!     how  am  I  to  begin?" 

"  Whv,  sir.  how  does  he  address  you?  "  inquired 
one  of  the  Loyalists. 

Sir  William  took  up  Washington's  communica- 
tion   and    read  :  —  "To    His    E.xcellency,    Major- 


liiil- 


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CAFFAIN   r    \W  WHARTON 


H9 


General  Sir  William  Howe,  K.  C.  B..  etc.,  etc., 
Comniandcr-in-oliicf  of  Ili.s  Britannic  Majesty's 
Forces  in  North  America." 

"  Very  civil,"  said  the  Loyalist.  "  And  how  does 
he  sign  himself?  " 

"  Your  R.\cellcncy's  Inimble.  obedient  servant  to 
command,  George  Washington.  Commander-in- 
chief  of  the  .\rmy  of  the  Republic  of  the  United 
States  of  America." 

"  Very  civil.  Sir  William,"  remarked  Judge 
W^inslow. 

"Yes  —  1  wish  he  was  half  as  civil  as  he 
sounds,"  returned  the  general.  "  Rut  I'll  not  be 
outdone  in  civility  by  any  demmed  rebel  this  side 
licU  —  begging  your  pardon.  Captain  Wharton." 
"  Not  at  all,  sir."  replied  David,  smiling. 
Sir  William  began  to  write,  with  a  hand  none  too 
steady.  The  other  gentlemen  contiinied  their  talk- 
ing and  drinking.  Some  talked  and  did  not  drink: 
others  drank  and  did  not  talk.  The  general's 
pen  squealed  and  spluttered  and  the  general 
swore. 

A  very  large  man  with  grave  eyes  and  brow  but 
a  whimsical  mouth,  leaned  toward  David. 

"  .\re  you  related,  in  any  way,  to  Oliver  Whar- 
ton, sir?  "  he  inquired 

"  Yes,  sir.    T  am  his  son."  answered  David. 


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130       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

The  large  gentleman  put  out  a  large,  wliite,  finely 
shaped  liand  and  clasped  that  of  David. 

"  Oliver  and  I  were  classmates  at  Harvard,  aiid 
firm  friends,"  he  said.  "  Give  him  my  best  re- 
spects, captain.  Ask  him  if  he  remembers  Daniel 
Bliss." 

"  Why,  sir,  for  that  matter  there  is  no  need  of 
asking,"  replied  David,  cheerfully.  "  I  have  often 
heard  him  speak  of  you,  sir  —  of  your  great  size 
and  strength  —  of  how  you  once  held  two  men  at 
arm's  length,  clear  of  the  ground  —  one  with  each 
hand." 

•'  Vanity,  all  vanity,"  said  Mr.  Bliss,  smiling. 
"  A  chance  bullet,  fired  perhaps  even  by  some  old 
schoolfellow,  would  make  no  more  to-do  over  my 
great  bulk  than  over  the  smallest  rabbit  in  the 
thicket.  But  why  do  you  look  so  happy,  young  sir? 
Egad,  you  smirk  and  glow  like  a  victor  —  or  like 
a  bridegroom.  Has  General  Howe  surrendered  to 
you?" 

"  No,  sir.  General  Howe  has  not  surrendered  to 
me." 

"  Ah-ha !  my  lad.  T  am  young  enough  to  catch 
your  tune.  So  you  find  time,  off  there  in  the  snow 
—  but  here  is  my  worthy  Mr.  Bradford." 

John,  seeing  David  so  well  received  by  the  gen- 
eral and  the  notables,  had  at  last  left  his  chair  and 


CAPTAIN  DAVID  WHARTON  131 

advanced  to  claim  acquaintance  with  the  rebel.    The 
two  shook  hands. 

"  I  trust  all  the  members  of  your  family  are  well, 
David,"  said  John.  "  You  yourself  look  exceed- 
ingly thin." 

"  He  is  engaged  in  exceedingly  thin  work,"  said 
a  grim-faced  Loyalist  named  Isaac  Allen.  "  I  know 
how  thin  it  is,  egad !  I  have  been  out  there  myself. 
Captain  Wharton,  you  may  have  seen  something  of 
'  Allen's  Orphans?'  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have  met  some  of  them.  I  was  try- 
ing to  flank  three  guns  one  day,  with  my  company, 
when  I  met  a  company  of  your  regiment  in  an 
adder-swamp.  But  for  that  meeting,  sir,  the  guns 
would  have  been  mine." 

Colonel  Allen  chuckled.     "  I  like  you,  my  boy," 

he  said. 

At  this  point  the  general  held  aloft  a  folded  and 
sealed  paper  and  cried,  "Here  you  are.  Captain 
Rebel !  Here's  a  polite  letter  for  your  commander. 
I've  asked  him  to  send  you  in  with  the  major,  for 
you're  a  man  of  sense  and  wit.  sir  —  a  most  com- 
panionable young  man.  What  you  have  to  look  so 
demned  merry  about  I  don't  know;  but.  I  like  it, 
sir !  I  like  it !  Another  glass,  captain.  Gentlemen, 
prime  your  glasses." 

Every  glass  was  filled. 


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182       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

"A  toast,"  said  Sir  William. 

Everyone  gOt  to  his  feet;  but  some,  perforce, 
leaned  heavily  against  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"  Captain  —  gentlemen  —  here's  to  the  end  of 
this  condemned,  unnatural,  footlin"  war!  "  c.ied  Sir 
William.  Every  glass  was  emptied  in  hearty  agree- 
ment with  the  sentiment;  but,  owing  to  trembling 
hands,  much  of  the  good  wine  went  stray. 

David  put  down  his  empty  glass,  bowed  low  to 
the  general,  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  strode  to  the 
door,  turned  there  and  bowed  again. 

"  Good  night.  Your  Excellency.  Good  night, 
gentlemen  all." 

"  Good  night  to  you.  my  merry  rebel.  Come 
again  to-morrow,"  replied  Sir  William,  waving  his 
hand. 

David  found  Temple  waiting  him  in  the  passage. 
They  shook  hands  cordially. 

"  I'll  send  word  for  your  escort  to  be  at  the  door 
in  five  minutes,"  said  Temple.  "  In  liie  meantime, 
Anne  wishes  to  see  you  —  again  — before  you  go." 

Their  glances  met.  The  Englishman's  face  was 
colourless  and  as  still  as  a  mask;  the  Colonial's, 
though  thinned  widi  hardships,  was  ruddy  and  alive 
with  emotion. 

"  I  am  to  congratulate  you,  I  believe,"  said  Tem- 
ple. 


CAPTAIN  DAVID  WHARTON 


133 


"  It  —  it  is  good  of  you,"  replied  David,  huskily. 
"  I  can  scarcely  realize  it  —  yet.  On  several  occa- 
sions Barnabas  has  —  " 

"  Barnabas  Bradford  is  a  rogue  and  a  liar,"  in- 
terrupted the  other,  scornfully. 

Five  minutes  later  David  Wharton  went  out  to 
the  cold  and  dark ;  but  so  radiant  did  the  world  look 
to  him  (with  the  caress  of  Anne's  incomparable  lips 
still  warm  upon  his),  that  he  wondered  why  the 
men  of  his  escort  hunched  so  in  their  saddles.  He 
swung  up  to  the  back  of  his  own  big,  raw-boned 
charger.  A  sergeant  spurred  to  him  from  his  place 
in  the  little  troop. 

"  We've  had  a  square  meal.  sir.  and  ale,"  he  said. 
"  and  the  nags  have  had  a  feed  of  grain." 

"  Good !  "  returned  David.  "  In  sections  of  four 
—  by  the  right  —  trot  —  march!  " 

When  Captain  Wharton  was  in  charge  of  a  cav- 
alry escort  he  never  insulted  the  vainglorious  horse- 
men with  infantry  words  of  command.  The  pride 
of  a  trooper,  even  though  his  mount  be  no  more 
than  skin  and  bones,  is  a  thing  to  consider.  It  was 
a  long  ride  to  Valley  Forge;  but  Wharton,  riding 
in  silence  two  lengths  in  front  of  his  leading  section, 
did  not  exchange  a  word  with  his  men  during  the 
whole  journev  beyond  slowing  them  to  a  walk  where 
the  road  was  bad  and  shaking  them  to  a  trot  again 


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134       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


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where  it  was  better.  For  the  greater  part  of  the 
journey  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  Anne  —  with 
the  great  joy  that  had  returned  so  suddenly  to  him. 
Again  and  again  he  reviewed  that  sweet  time  of 
disclosure  and  revelation,  and  that  sweet,  brief  time 
of  farewell  between  the  general's  dinner-table  and 
the  cold  saddle.  He  lived  these  things  over  again, 
minute  by  precious  minute.  What  a  miracle  was 
this  that  had  found  him !  What  a  marvel  was  this 
that  had  come  to  pass!  Who  was  he,  to  be  thus 
chosen  and  crowned,  one  out  of  the  millions  of  the 
world?  He  breathed  her  name  against  the  collar 
of  his  cloak,  where  the  frost  was  now  glinting. 
Was  this  figure  riding  through  the  winter  night  a 
half-starved  captain  of  a  half-starved  army?  Nay, 
a  victor-king,  crowned  and  anointed,  returning  from 
a  golden  city  with  the  golden  heart  of  the  world  in 
his  possession. 

In  time,  a  pity  for  Temple  crept  into  his  thoughts. 
The  Englishman's  face,  as  he  had  last  seen  it,  came 
clear  to  the  eyes  of  his  inner  vision.  At  last  his 
mind  turned  to  Barnabas  Bradford.  He  swore 
softly.  The  liar !  The  cheat !  And  yet  —  what  of 
hi.  courage?  —  what  of  liis  cunning,  fearless  work 
for  the  Great  Cause  ?  He  remembered  the  night  of 
the  capture  of  the  wagon  of  provisions,  and  many 
another  daring  deed  that  he  had  witnessed  or  heard 


CAPTAIN  DAVID  WHARTON 


185 


of.  And  yet  the  man  had  given  a  false  message 
from  his  sister  to  her  lover,  and  had  lied  since, 
again  and  again.  Was  he  true  in  his  present  alle- 
giance? Was  he  to  be  trusted,  absolutely,  in  public 
affiirs  who  was  so  utterly  dishonourable  in  private 
matters?  A  rogue  and  a  liar!  Temple  had  said 
it  —  and  Temple  was  to  be  depended  upon  to  act 
and  tell  the  truth. 

"  I  shall  watch  him,"  he  muttered.  "  Barnabas, 
you  lying  scoundrel,  I'll  keep  my  eyes  open  and  my 
mouth  shut.  You  pretend  to  be  my  friend  —  and 
yet  you  have  tried  to  rob  me  of  all  the  joy  of  life! 
You  must  walk  straight  hereafter,  damn  you,  Bar- 
nabas Bradford! " 

He  was  challenged  by  a  sentry  of  an  outpost.  A 
word,  and  he  rode  by. 

"  What  did  ye  do  in  the  town,  boys?  "  asked  the 
sentry  of  his  followers. 

"  We  drank  ale.  We  chawed  on  turkey  bones," 
replied  one  of  the  troopers. 

"  Jumpin'  Jehosophat !  "  exclaimed  the  sentry, 
"  but  you  hoss-sodgers  do  get  the  fine  jobs." 

David  smiled  at  this  exchange  of  pleasantries  but 
did  not  turn  his  head. 

Farther  on,  he  was  halted  by  a  picket  and  paused 
for  a  minute  to  speak  with  its  commander.  Five 
minutes  later  he  drew  rein  in  the  middle  of  the 


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138       A  SOLDIER  OF   VALLEY   FORGE 


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camp,  dismissed  the  troopers,  handed  over  his  horse 
and  went  on.  alone,  to  the  small  farmhouse  in  which 
General  Washington  had  his  headquarters.  The 
time  was  now  close  upon  midnight.  In  the  snowy, 
trampled  yard  before  the  house  a  sentry  paced  back 
and  forth  and  a  corporal's  guard  crouched  around 
a  roaring  fire,  their  muskets,  with  bayonets  fixed, 
stacked  a  few  yards  to  one  side.  As  David  opened 
the  gate  the  sentry  roared  "  Halt ! "  brought 
his  musket  to  the  "  ready "  and  charged  toward 
him. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  " 

"  A  friend." 

"  The  countersign  ?  " 

"  Unity." 

"  Your  business?  " 

"  I  am  Captain  David  Wharton,  with  a  message 
for  His  Excellency  from  the  British  general." 

The  sentry  sloped  his  musket. 

"  Pass,  friend." 

David  went  up  to  the  narrow  door  and  knocked 
upon  it  with  his  gloved  knuckles.  It  was  opened 
by  an  orderly. 

"  The  general  is  in  his  ofifice,  sir,"  said  the  man. 
"  He  is  expecting  you.     This  way,  sir." 

David  followed  him  along  the  narrow  chilly  pas- 
sage, and  a  moment  later  was  standing  at  attention 


CAPTAIN  DAVID  WHARTON 


137 


before  his  beloved  commander.  The  room,  which 
was  little  more  than  a  closet,  was  almost  entirely 
filled  by  the  big,  deal  table  at  which  Washington 
sat.  Two  candles,  in  brass  sticks,  lit  the  table  and 
its  litter  of  maps  and  papers.  The  chimney  seemed 
too  large  for  the  room  and  the  tire  too  small  for 
the  chimney.  A  blanket  was  fastened,  curtain-wise, 
across  the  single  window.  A  few  maps  hung  on 
the  walls,  forming  their  only  adornment.  A  horse- 
pistol  lay  on  the  table,  holding  down  a  sheaf  of 
papers.  Washington,  who  had  risen  from  his  chair 
when  David  was  announced,  now  stood,  a  tall,  grim 
figure,  with  the  width  of  the  table  between  himself 
and  his  subordinate.  The  orderly  retired  and  closed 
the  door. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  safe  home  again.  Captain 
Wharton,"  said  the  general,  leaning  forward  across 
the  table  and  extending  his  hand.  His  bright,  grave 
regard  did  not  waver  from  the  other's  face.  David 
stepped  forward  a  pace,  pressed  the  extended  hand 
and  returned  glance  for  glance.  He  then  produced 
the  written  message  from  Sir  William  Howe. 
Washington  broke  the  seal,  read  the  communica- 
tion, and  smiled  fleetingly. 

"  General  Howe,  as  you  already  know,  of  course, 
accepts  my  suggestion  favourably,"  he  said.  "  He 
also  mentions  you,  captain  —  wishes  me  to  send 


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138       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

you  in  with  the  prisoner,  to-morrow,  that  he  may 
have  the  pleasure  of  another  chat  with  you." 

David  bowed,  smihng.  "  The  entire  company  of 
gentlemen  treated  me  with  vast  kindness  and  con- 
sideration, sir,"  he  replied. 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  the  general,  "  Captain 
Bradford  has  requested  the  duty  of  taking  in  the 
prisoner  and  bringing  out  our  own  officer." 

David  changed  colour.  This  did  not  escape  his 
general's  keen  eyes. 

"  May  I  go  along  with  him,  sir?  "  asked  David. 

"  Two  officers  of  your  rank  are  not  required  for 
the  duty.  Captain  Wharton." 

"  Very  true,  sir." 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  go?  Is  it  for  the  pleasure 
of  another  chat  with  Sir  William  Howe?" 

David  leaned  forward,  bringing  his  face  into  the 
full  light  of  the  candles. 

"  I  must  tell  you  the  truth,  sir,  even  at  the  risk 
of  your  displeasure  —  and,  perhaps,  of  injury  to  a 
brother-officer,"  he  said.  He  paused  for  a  moment, 
his  eyes  steady  under  Washington's  level  scrutiny. 
"  I  do  not  trust  Captain  Bradford."  he  added. 

The  general's  face  did  not  change  a  shade  in  its 
expression  of  watchful  and  somewhat  grim  com- 
posure. 

"  That  is  easily  said,"  he  remarked,  coolly.     "  I 


VM 


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CAPTAIN  DAVID  WHARTON 


139 


hope,  captain,  that  you  can  explain  your  statement 
satisfactorily  —  for  I  should  be  more  deeply  grieved 
in  discovering  in  you  a  back-biter  than  in  finding 
Barnabas  Bradford  untrustworthy." 
David  bowed,  his  face  crimson. 
•'  Come  round  here  by  the  fire  and  sit  down. 
You  have  had  a  hard,  cold  ride,"  said  the  general, 
more  kindly.  "  It  was  thoughtless  of  me  to  keep 
you  standing  so  long.  And  how  long  is  it  since 
you  have  eaten  ?  " 

David  passed  around  the  table  and  sat  down  by 
the  fire. 

"  I  had  some  of  General  Howe's  guava  jelly,  sir, 
fresh  up  from  Barbadoes,"  he  replied,  smiling 
faintly.  "  And  I  had  wine  and  punch,  sir.  I  am 
not  at  all  hungry." 

"  You  must  share  my  snack  before  you  go  — 
after  you  have  explained  your  distrust  of  Captain 
Bradford,"  said  Washington. 

So  David  told  him.  as  simply  and  briefly  as  pos- 
sible, of  Barnabas  Bradford's  mean  and  dishonour- 
able act  of  almost  three  years  ago  —  and  of  how 
he  had  learned  the  truth  of  it  only  this  evening. 
The  general,  who  had  been  watching  him  closely 
while  he  talked,  turned  his  eyes  to  the  fire  as  soon 
as  he  was  finished.  For  several  minutes  they  sat 
silent. 


**M4,.im 


140   A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


)  it  1 


"  And  yet  he  pretends  friendship  for  you,"  said 
the  general,  at  last. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  David.  "  And  he  has  told 
me.  (jf  late,  time  and  again,  that  his  sister  was  to 
marry  Captain  Temple.  This  seemed  natural  to 
me  —  fur  1  iiad  lost  hope.  I  have  never  asked  him 
any  (juestions  about  her.  He  lias  always  volun- 
teered the  —  the  misinformation." 

"  So,"  murmured  Washington,  reflectively.  And 
then,  "  You  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  his  work  as 
an  officer  of  this  army  of  ours?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  —  and  I  admire  what  I  have  seen.  He 
is  a  hard  worker,  clever  and  courageous." 

The  other  nodded.  "What  do  you  suggest?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  have  thought,  sir,  of  saying  nothing  to  him, 
at  present,  of  what  I  have  learned;  but  of  watching 
him  closely  in  the  future  ^  with  eyes  sharpened  by 
the  knowledge  of  this  thing." 

"What  is  it  you  fear?" 

"  An  injury  to  the  cause,  sir;  a  design,  perhaps, 
against  your  own  person." 

"  What  has  inspired  you  with  the  idea,  captain?  " 

"  Miss  Bradford's  last  words  to  me,  to-night,  sir 
—  and  her  manner  of  saying  them.  She  said 
'  Guard  your  general  well.'  " 

"  And  her  manner  ?  " 


&a^% 


CAPTAIN  DAVID  WHARTON  141 

"  She  seemed  to  be  greatly  perturlKnl.  sir  —  and 
she  repeated  the  words  twice.  I  was  too  —  too  flus- 
tered at  the  time,  sir,  to  think  of  asking  her  exactly 
what  she  meant." 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  softened  and  lightened 
Washington's  face  for  a  moment.  He  leaned  for- 
ward and.  gently  but  with  great  dignity,  removed 
something  from  the  breast  of  David's  cloak.  He 
held  it  up  to  the  light  between  thumb  and  finger. 

"  A  long,  golden  hair,"  he  said,  tenderly  but  un- 
smilingly.     "  Put  it  safely  away,  captain,  or  you 

may  lose  it." 

He  laid  it  across  David's  sleeve,  an  almost  in- 
visible thread  of  gold.  Then  he  left  his  chair,  went 
to  the  door  and  called  for  his  orderly.  When  he 
returned  to  his  seat  David  had  recovered  his  com- 
posure. 

"  I  think  your  plan  is  a  good  one,  Captain  Whar- 
ton," said  the  general.  "  Watch  him;  but  be  care- 
ful not  to  alarm  him.  Say  nothing  of  the  matter 
to  anyone ;  and  accompany  him  to  Philadelphia  to- 
morrow.    I  will  put  your  name  in  Orders  for  the 

joint-duty." 

Two  minutes  later  the  orderly  entered  with  bread, 
a  jug  of  cider  and  a  plate  of  apples.  General 
Washington  did  not  make  any  apologies  for  the 
simple  fare. 


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141       A  SOLDIER  OF   \  ALl.KV    I'nRf.p: 

It  was  past  one  o'clock  ulien  David  at  last  rolled 
himself  in  his  blankets  and  la\  ifown  in  his  narrow 
bunk.  He  dreamed  a  vaiiety  m  dreams,  some  in- 
spiring' and  others  daunting  Tiiroiit^di  them  all 
Barnabas  Flradford  stalked,  black,  votirageous, 
menacing. 

The  mornirig  was  pray  and  milder  than  usual, 
with  a  hint  of  snow  in  the  hea\v  skies.  David  was 
inspecting  his  company-hospital  —  a  log  hut  — 
when  Captain  P)radford  entered  and  greeted  him 
cheerfully.  David  cloaked  his  real  feelings  and  re- 
turned the  greeting  in  kind. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  posted  with  me  for  the  duty 
of  escorting  Major  Burton  to  Philadelphia  to-day 
and  bringing  Carr  home."  said  Barnabas. 

"  Yes,"  replied  David.  "  General  Howe  was  kind 
enough  to  seem  pleased  with  my  conversation,  last 
night,  and  asked  General  Washington  to  send  me 
in  to-day." 

Bradford  glanced  at  him  keenly  but  swiftly. 
Then  he  laughed.  "  T  hope  Sir  William  is  not  try- 
ing to  win  you  over  to  his  way  of  thinking." 

"  That's  his  intention,  I  have  no  doubt,"  replied 
David,  smiling.  "  But  so  far  he  has  offered  me 
nothing  but  several  glasses  of  wine  and  rum  punch 
—  yes,  and  guava  jelly.  A  square  dinner,  now, 
might  win  me." 


CAPTAIN    DAVIT)   WHARTON 


143 


"No!"  exclaimed  Bradford,  with  mock  gravity. 
"  Hold  out  for  two  s(iuare  meals,  a  new  suit  of 
underclothing,  a  dozen  of  port  and  —  and  a  step 
in  rank.     I'll  do  the  same." 

"  Very  well.  No  doubt  we  are  worth  it.  When 
are  we  to  lUart  and  who  supplies  the  escort?" 

"  We  start  at  ten  —  just  two  hours  from  now. 
A  half-troop  of  Lee's  dragoons  for  escort  — the 
same  men  you  had  last  night ;  but  with  fresh  horses. 
I  hope.  By  the  way,  did  you  have  any  exciting 
adventures  last  night  ?  " 

"  Well,  n(jthing  dangerous.  Sir  William  Howe 
was  entertaining  some  friends  at  dinner  and  I  came 
in  for  the  wine  end  of  it." 

"  You  were  in  luck,  Davy.  Did  you  see  anything 
of  my  people  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  your  father.  He  was  kind  enough 
to  remember  me  and  shake  hands." 

"  The  dear  old  man,"  said  Barnabas,  with  a 
twisted  smile. 


i 


CHAPTER    IX 


WHY  DAVID  WHARTON   DID  NOT  STAY  TO  DINNER 


II 


(   !t 


The  two  Continental  captains,  and  the  English 
prisoner  for  exchange,  Major  Burton,  rode  in  front. 
Barnabas  seemed  to  be  in  tlie  liighest  spirits,  and 
was  verv  gay  and  entertaining.  He  watched 
David's  face  closely,  however.  Major  Burton  was 
also  feeling  merry;  and  no  wonder.  He  v  as  on 
his  way  back  to  freedom,  to  his  own  regiment,  to 
the  wine  and  good-cheer  of  Philadelphia.  The  lat- 
ter half  of  the  journey  was  accomplished  in  a  wind- 
less fall  of  snow,  but  without  adventure.  Every- 
one had  eaten  a  substantial  meal  at  a  farmhouse 
midway  between  Valley  Forge  and  the  town,  and 
the  day  was  not  as  cold  as  usual.  Upon  reaching 
Philadelphia  and  General  Howe's  headquarters  a 
young  stafF-officer  met  them.  He  shook  hands  very 
warmly  with  Major  Burton,  gave  a  receipt  for  him 
to  David,  and  informed  him  that  the  officers  of  his 
regiment  were  waiting  to  receive  him  at  Pott's 
Tavern.    The  freed  major  dofifed  his  hat  and  gal- 

144 


WHY  DAVID  DID  NOT  STAY         145 

loped  away.  Then  the  staff-officer  gave  orders  con- 
cerning the  stabhng  of  the  horses  and  sheUering  of 
the  men  and  led  the  two  captains  into  Sir  William's 
house. 

He  showed  them  into  the  little  room  where  David 
had  found  Anne  tlie  night  before,  and  went  away 
to  notify  the  general  of  their  arrival.  The  room 
was  empty.  The  two  captains  stood  side  by  side 
before  the  fire  and  warmed  their  hands. 

"  I  have  heard,"  said  Barnabas,  "  that  Sir  Will- 
iam Howe  is  not  always  such  a  merry  companion 
by  daylight  as  by  candle-light,  and  that  he  some- 
times loses  all  recollection,  during  the  night,  of 
friendships  made  the  day  before." 

"  Very  likely.  I  think  his  sudden  fancy  for  me 
was  due  entirely  to  the  fumes  of  his  potations,"  re- 
plied David.  "  I'll  be  mightily  surprised  if  he  re- 
members anything  about  me  to-day." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  he  has  not  forgotten  his  agree- 
ment to  an  exchange  of  prisoners,"  returned  Brad- 
ford. 

Just  then  the  same  young  staff-ofificer  opened  the 
door  and  looked  in. 

"  Which  of  you  is  the  senior?  "  he  inquired. 
"  I  am  the  senior  in  the  service."  replied  David, 
"  but  Captain  Bradford  is  the  senior  on  this  tour 
of  duty." 


146       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


"  Ah !  A  nice  point,"  said  the  EngHshman. 
"  But  I'll  risk  a  decision,  though  I'm  demmed 
if  I  know  just  which  of  you  ranks  in  this  case. 
Captain  Bradawl,  I'll  trouble  you  to  come  this 
way." 

"  Bradford,  sir.  Bradford,"  answered  Barnabas, 
with  dignity. 

"  By  all  means,  sir.  Have  it  your  own  way.  It 
is  your  name,  not  mine  and  it's  the  name  of  a 
demmed  fine  young  woman,  too.  Now,  in  her  case, 
I'd  have  no  objection  to  changin'  the  name  for  a 
better  —  for  my  own,  by  the  Lord !  " 

"Are  you  drunk  so  early  in  the  day?"  asked 
David,  scornfully. 

"  Oh !  It's  you,  is  it  ?  —  our  guest  of  last  night. 
Well,  sir,  an'  suppose  I  am  drunk  ?  —  which  I  am 
not!  Vou  were  drunk  last  night,  I'll  swear!  This 
way.  Captain  Bradford.  Never  mind  your  senior- 
junior  in  the  Rag-Tag  army." 

"The  miserable  pup!"  muttered  David.  "He 
needs  his  ears  cropped,  by  heaven.  I'd  like  to  do 
it." 

Left  alone  he  fell  to  pacing  the  room  deep  in 
anxious  thought;  but  it  was  Barnabas  Bradford, 
not  the  young  staff-officer,  who  occupied  his 
mind.  "Why  were  we  separated?"  he  asked 
himself.      "What   damned   trick    is    he   at,    now? 


WHY  DAVID  DID  NOT  STAY 


147 


I    was   a    fool  —  a   gull  —  to    let   him   leave   my 

sight!" 

He  was  not  left  alone  for  more  than  a  few  min- 
utes.   The  same  young  staff-officer  returned. 

"  No  use  mopin'  here,  Wharton,"  he  said. 
"  That  black-faced,  piratical  lookin'  friend  of  yours 
is  shut  up  with  Sir  William  and  Temple,  and  orders 
are  you're  both  to  dine  here,  to-night,  with  the  gen- 
eral, and  not  start  back  with  Major  Carr  until  eight 
o'clock." 

"Why?"  demanded  David.  "By  the  Lord 
Harry!  this  is  not  according  to  my  ideas  of  miH- 
tary  duty." 

"  Seems  damn  polite  of  Sir  William,  tho'  — 
and,  now  I  think  of  it,  that  black-faced  divil  Brad- 
ford has  froze  his  toes." 

"  So  ?  He  did  not  mention  it  to  me !  And  the 
day  is  not  cold." 

"The>'re  nipped,  Wharton.  But  come,  man! 
What's  the  use  of  mopin'  here?  My  name's  Stan- 
fell.  Come  out  and  I'll  show  you  'round  the  town 
before  dinner.    It  has  stopped  snowin'." 

"  You  are  very  kind."  David  hesitated.  "  Yes, 
I  should  like  to  see  the  town." 

Captain  Stanfell,  or,  to  be  more  elaborate,  Cap- 
tain the  Honourable  Faulk  Stanfell.  proved  to  be  an 
agreeable  though  not  brilliant  companion.     He  was 


T     1 

! 


148       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGF. 


as  open  as  the  face  of  a  clock,  as  innocent  ot  guile 
as  a  year-old  child  of  mustaches.  He  was  ceed- 
ingly  young  —  and  admitted  it. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  on  the  general's  staff,  of  course, 
but  for  the  fact  that  my  father  is  an  earl,"  he  said. 
"I'm  not  a  denimed  bit  of  use  to  Buffeting  Bill,  you 
know  —  an'  he  knows  it,  too.  Temple,  now,  is  a 
clever  fellow  —  demn  clever ;  but  I  can  tell  you  one 
thing,  Wharton,  he's  not  clever  enough  to  man- 
age." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Get  Anne  Bradford  to  marry  him." 

"  Why  does  the  lady  refuse  him,  do  you 
think?" 

'■  Can't  think,  my  dear  fellow  —  unless  it  is  that 
the  beauty  is  really  in  love  with  me.  Hah-hah! 
Let  me  take  your  arm.  See,  we  are  causin'  quite 
a  stir,  Wharton!  Dang  my  eyes,  but  I'll  be  the  talk 
of  the  town  to-morrow.  Fact  is.  you  know,  Whar- 
ton, you  condemned,  ragged  rebels  are  all  the  rage 
now.  So  demmed  romantic,  you  know,  campin* 
out  there  in  the  cold.  Come!  Here  we  are 
at  the  *  Punch  Bowl.'  W^e'll  go  in  and  have  a 
round." 

They  entered  the  tavern,  had  a  round,  and  an- 
other. Stan  fell  was  for  a  third;  but  David  pleaded 
a  weak  head.     In  the  street  again  David  said,  "  I 


WHY  DAVID  DID  NOT  STAY  U9 

used  to  know  Miss  Bradford,  when  we  were  both 
younger.     Where  does  she  Uve?  " 

"  Hell's  pit ! "  cried  the  Honourable  Faulk. 
"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  before?  We  might  have 
been  drinkin'  old  Bradford's  stufif  instead  of  wastin' 
our  money  at  the  '  Punch  Bowl.'  Where  does  she 
live?  Why,  man,  I'll  soon  show  you!  Egad,  we'll 
go  and  call  on  her!  " 

David  turned  his  face  away  to  hide  from  the 
other  the  exultant  grin  thereon. 

"  This  is  very  kind  of  you,"  he  said.  "  I  should 
like,  above  all  things,  to  renew  that  old  acquaint- 
ance." 

John  Bradford's  Philadelphia  house  was  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  town  —  a  very  fine  house,  with  a 
garden  in  front,  yards,  outbuildings  and  fields  be- 
hind. An  old,  black  butler  opened  the  door  to  Cap- 
tains Stanfell  and  Wharton.  He  gaped  at  sight  of 
the  worn.  Continental  uniform. 

"Is   your  mistress   at   home,    Sam?"   inquired 

Stanfell. 

"Yes,  sah.     Yes,  sah." 

"  Any  other  callers,  Sam?  " 

"  No,  sah.  Not  now,  sah.  But  Cap'n  Barnabas 
has  just  left,  sah." 

"  That  pirate!  Well,  Wharton.  I'm  demmed  glad 
he's  gone.     Take  up  our  names,  Sam  —  Captain 


150       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


iU 


t    - 


Wharton  an'  Captain  Stanfell.  Hold!  Before  you 
go  up,  Sam,  we'll  try  a  glass  of  that  punch  of  yours, 
if  it's  made." 

"  Yes,  sah.  Alwus  ready,  sah.  Step  this  way, 
gentlemen." 

So  David,  much  against  his  will,  was  forced  to 
step  into  the  dining-parlour  and  drink  a  glass  of 
punch.  At  last,  however,  the  two  reached  the 
drawing-room  and  its  mistress.  Anne  looked  very 
beautiful,  and  her  cheeks  and  eyes  were  very  bright. 
She  greeted  Stanfell  first,  with  an  unusual  warmth 
that,  added  to  the  "  rounds  "  he  had  been  enjoying, 
quite  staggered  him.  Then,  with  her  back  to  the 
Englishman,  she  clasped  David's  hand.  She  was 
close  to  him.  Her  bright  head  was  almost  against 
his  shoulder. 

"  Davy,"  she  whispered,  "  you  must  not  stay. 
You  must  ride  back  to  your  general.  You  must! 
You  must !  " 

He  looked  long  and  searchingly  into  the  beauti- 
ful, anxious  eyes. 

"  Old  friend  of  yours,  Miss  Bradford,"  said  Stan- 
fell. "Rude  to  whisper  —  even  to  old  friend! 
Once  your  friend,  always  your  lover,  you  know. 
Hah !  that's  pretty  neat  —  for  me.  What  you  call 
an  epitaph,  hey,  Wharton !  " 

"  My    epitaph,    I    fear,"    said    David,    readily. 


WHY  DAVID   DID   NOT  STAY 


151 


"  Miss   Bradford   has   just   told   me   that   Captain 
Bradford  was  looking  for  me." 

Anne  rewarded  him  for  the  lie  with  a  grateful 
smile. 

"  Let   him    look,"    replied    Stanfell,    arrogantly. 
"  You  are  his  senior  in  that  Rag-Tag  army  of  yours, 
Wharton.     You  told  me  so.     Let  him  look,  demn 
im! 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Anne ;  "  but  my  —  my  half- 
brother  —  seemed  to  be  very  anxious  to  find  Cap- 
tain Wharton.  It  is  a  matter  of  importance,  no 
doubt  —  of  vastly  greater  importance  than  sitting 
here  with  me." 

"  I  deny  it ! "  cried  young  Stanfell,  valorous 
with  his  potations.  "  Demme,  I  say  nay  to  that ! 
My  duty's  here  —  you  go  do  whatever  you  please, 
Wharton.  I'm  Miss  Anne's  humble,  devoted  ad- 
mirer first  —  soldier  next !  " 

David  and  the  girl  exchanged  meaning  glances. 

"  You  are  very  brave,  and  kind.  Captain  Stan- 
fell," she  said. 

"But  can  I  get  back  to  headquarters  alone?" 
queried  David.  "  Think  of  the  colour  of  my  uni- 
form, Stanfell." 

The  Honourable  Faulk  laughed  mightily. 
"  Egad !  "  he  cried,  "  one  has  to  think  plagued  hard 
of  the  colour  of  it  to  see  any  at  all.     But  hold, 


"•ni  aid  gTMl^  ~ 


is^&jMijcJ^': 


If  * 

It.   u 


152       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

Wharton !  I  took  you  out  for  a  walk  —  and,  by 
the  Lord!  I'll  give  you  a  safe  pass  back  to  head- 
quarters. Paper!  Ink!  Egad,  1  will  show  my  au- 
thority !  " 

He  wrote  —  "Pass  this  officer  of  the  Rebel 
Army,  Captain  David  Wharton.  Molest  him  not 
—  or  God  help  you !  He  is  on  the  business  of  the 
two  Generals  and  under  a  flag  of  truce.  (Signed) 
Faulk  Stanfell.  Captain,  D.  A.  G.,  etc." 

"  Here  you  are,  Wharton,"  he  said.  "  You  won't 
need  it,  between  here  an'  Sir  William's  house  —  but 
if  you  do,  use  it.  Use  it  hard !  Knock  'em  down, 
Wharton  —  an'  then,  when  they're  ready  to  hit  you 
back,  show  'em  that  pass.  It'll  stiffen  'em,  you  take 
my  word ! " 

Anne  accompanied  David  to  the  door  of  the 
drawing-room. 

"  You  must  go,  without  a  word  to  anybodyT"  she 
whispered. 

"  Yes,  dear  heart,"  replied  David,  pressing  his 
lips  to  her  hand. 

"  Go  right  to  Washington.  I  have  heard  a 
rumour.    Do  not  wait  for  dinner." 

"  Y'ou  may  be  sure  of  that,  dearest." 

"  W^ill  you  use  the  pass?  " 

"  Not  unless  I  have  to.     If  I  must  —  yes." 

"  God  speed  you,  Davy!  " 


WHY  DAVID  DID  NOT  STAY 


153 


"  God  keep  you,  my  beloved !  " 

Anne  returned  to  Captain  Stanfell. 

"  Whisperin'  again,"  said  he,  wagging  a  finger 

at  her. 

She  laughed  softly.  "  You  will  forgive  us,  I 
know,"  she  said.  "  Captain  Wharton  and  I  were 
old  sweethearts." 

"  I'd  turn  rebel  myself  to  hear  you  say  the  same 
of  me,"  said  Stanfell. 

The  early  winter  dusk  was  gray  in  the  streets 
when  David  retraced  his  steps,  unmolested,  to  Gen- 
eral Howe's  headquarters.  He  did  not  enter  the 
house,  however,  but  passed  into  the  stable-yard  by 
way  of  a  narrow  alley.  He  crossed  the  yard 
and  opened  a  stable  door.  He  was  challenged 
by  one  of  his  own  men  —  one  of  Lee's  dra- 
goons. 

•'  I  am  not  trying  to  steal  your  horses,"  he  said. 

"  Oh !   It's  you,  Captain  Wharton !  " 

"  Yes,  I  want  my  horse.    Is  he  here?  " 

The  man  called  out,  "  Dick,  is  Captain  Whar- 
ton's horse  ready? " 

The  reply  came,  "Yes.  It  has  been  fed  and 
watered." 

"  Good !  Bring  it  out.  The  captain  wants  it." 
Then,  turning  to  Wharton,  the  man  asked,  "  Did 
you  see  Captain  Bradford,  sir?  " 


154       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


\'Ai 


"  No.    Why  ?    Was  he  looking  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  came  here  himself  for  his  h^rse 
and  seemed  to  be  in  a  terrible  rush,  and  in  a  pretty 
bad  temper,  too,  sir,  I  should  judge  by  what  he  said 
to  Dick  there,  for  not  getting  the  horse  out  quick 
enough.  He  asked  if  you  had  taken  your  horse, 
sir." 

What  was  Barnabas  up  to  now,  David  wondered. 
He  felt  like  letting  out  a  little  himself  on  Dick,  who 
was  getting  his  horse  out  none  too  quickly.  He 
must  not  meet  Barnabas.  He  must  get  to  Valley 
Forge  without  anybody  knowing  it,  and  to  make 
this  possible  every  minute  was  precious.  Yet  he 
was  careful  not  to  show  too  much  haste. 

"  Well,  if  Captain  Bradford  returns  before  I  do, 
tell  him  I  won't  be  long,  that  I've  gone  on  a  little 
afifair  of  my  own  in  town." 

At  this  moment  the  horse  was  led  into  the  yard 
from  the  stables,  and  David  stepped  out  hastily  to 
it.  The  men  with  whom  he  had  been  talking 
grinned  knowingly  after  him.  As  he  was  about  to 
get  into  the  saddle  David  hesitated,  then  turning 
towards  the  grinning  dragoon  standing  in  the  stable, 
he  said. 

"  This  uniform :  I  don't  suppose  it  would  be  wise 
for  me  to  ride  through  the  streets  like  this  even  if 
it  is  pretty  dark.    Have  any  of  the  boys  got  a  cloak 


TBf-.i-««(f. 


WHY  DAVID  DID  NOT  STAY  155 

I  could  borrow  for  a  little  while  to  cover  this  uni- 
form with?"  The  man  looked  thoughtful, 
scratched  his  chin,  and  replied, 

"  Well,  there's  this  here  Englishman  I  know  as 
I-,  pretty  well  set  up,  1  might  -  a —  if  I  only  knew 
where  '   •  was." 

David  sprang  into  the  saddle. 

"  I'll  risk  it,"  he  cried.    "  Here  goes." 

He  trotted  across  the  yard  and  down  the  narrow 
I'ley  into  the  street.  It  was  quite  dark  by  now,  and 
he  felt  certain  that  by  keepin^^  to  the  less  frequented 
streets  he  would  be  able  to  pass  unmolested  from 
the  town.  It  would  be  time  enough  for  the  trouble 
and  suspicious  questionings  to  begin  when  he 
reached  the  outposts.  He  went  at  a  fast  trot  down 
the  avenue  and  turned  into  the  first  ranch  street 
that  offered  itself.  Here  he  put  his  horse  to  the  gal- 
lop. Now  he  was  a  messenger  indc  1.  T'erhaps  the 
safety  of  Washington  and  of  the  whole  cause  de- 
pended on  his  getting  to  Valley  Forge.  He  ached 
to  plunge  the  spurs  into  his  hor^e:  to  get  out 
of  the  town  into  the  open  country,  but  he  dared 
not  attract  too  much  attention.  He  thanked 
Heaven  that  the  street.^  were  but  dimly  lighted 
and  that  the  new-fallen  snow  muffled  the  hoof- 
beats. 

He  had  been  ritb'ng  for  some  eight  or  ten  minutes 


'  — ■'r  ■ 


-^T."-.  S"*5*''l 


Mr    I   ': 


156       A  SOLniP:R  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

before  he  was  at  last  held  up.  There  were  very  few 
people  on  the  streets  at  this  hour  of  the  day,  and 
those  few  people  that  he  had  passed  close  to  had 
dojie  no  more  than  stop  and  stare  after  him.  But 
finally,  just  as  he  was  passing  a  cross  street  at  a 
good  gallop,  a  cloaked  figure  happened  to  turn  the 
corner.  David  .saw  at  a  glance  that  it  was  a  British 
officer.  He  hreathed  a  little  prayer  but  did  not 
slack  his  pace. 

The  officer  stopped  abruptly  as  the  rebel  captain 
swept  by.  Then  cpiickly  reccnering  from  his  amaze- 
ment he  shouted  in  a  commanding  .oice  for  him 
to  stop.  But  David  had  no  intention  of  doing  so. 
He  was  already  far  up  the  street,  and  he  knew  the 
officer  could  do  nothing  but  raise  an  alarm;  and 
it  would  take  time  to  do  that.  But  suddenly  David 
spied  another  man  coming  down  the  .street  to- 
wards him.  He  drew  his  horse  up  and  turned 
it  about  as  though  he  had  just  heard  the  com- 
mands of  the  British  officer.  He  rode  slowly 
back  to  him.  .\s  David  came  up  the  officer  asked 
sharply, 

"Who  are  you'" 

"  Captain  Wharton,  sir." 

"  Damn  me,  you're  a  »cbcl  soldier.  What  does 
this  mean  ?  " 

By  this  time  David  had  come  into  the  faint  rays 


WHY  DAVID   DID  NOT  STAY 


1.57 


of  the  street  lamp.  Tlie  officer  stepped  over  to  his 
horse. 

"  I  am  on  the  business  of  Sir  William  Ilowe  and 
General  Washington."  he  replied  shortly. 

The  man,  evidently  an  officer  of  high  rank,  was 
in  a  very  bad  hunKJur.     He  snapped  out, 

"  Dismount,  sir  !  " 

For  answer  David  slowly  put  his  hand  into  his 
pocket  and  drew  forth  his  pass.  He  unfolded  it  and 
handed  it  to  the  officer.  Snatching  it  from  his  hand 
the  officer  strode  nearer  to  the  light  and  tried  to 
make  out  the  small  handwriting  of  the  Honourable 
h'aulk  Stanfell.  l^-aiiing  in  this,  owing  to  the  dim- 
ness of  the  light  and  the  weakness  of  his  eyes,  the 
man  swore  abundantly  and  shifted  about  here 
?nd  there  trying  to  get  the  paper  clear  of 
shadows.  Presently  the  man  which  David 
had  seen  approaching  came  up :  the  stranger 
seemed  very  anxious  to  get  by  without  attract- 
ing notice,  but  the  officer  glanced  up  from 
his  paper  at  this  moment  an<l.  spying  him, 
called  out :  "  Pardon  me,  sir,  but  one  moment, 
please."  The  man  stopped  and  lo(A-ed  arttund 
doubtfully. 

"  T  can't  make  ^ut  this  writing."  The  officer  ex- 
plained, "  1  wish  you  would  help  me." 

Without  a  word  the  man  came  over  to  them,  took 


hi ! 


158       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

the  paper  in  a  trembling  hand,  and  held  it  to  the 
light. 

"  Pass  this  officer  of  the  Rebel  Army,"  he  read 
out  s'  nvly,  "  Captain  David  Wharton  —  " 

The  reader  turned  suddenly  to  the  horseman. 

"What,  David,  you!"  he  exclaimed,  thrusting 
his  hand  out  to  him. 

Wharton  grasped  the  hand  as  he  recognized  John 
Bradford.  But  he  was  not  pleased.  This  was  just 
the  time  he  did  not  want  to  meet  anybody  that  knew 
him. 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Bradford,"  he  cried  cheer- 
fully. 

"  This  is  a  lucky  meeting.  You  will  be  able  to 
convince  this  officer  for  me.  I'm  on  the  business 
of  Howe  and  Washington,  and  I'm  in  a  hurry, 
too." 

"  Yes,  yes.  David.  Let  me  see.  How  does  it 
read?"  He  lifted  the  paper  to  the  light  again  and 
continued.  "  Captain  David  Wharton.  Molest 
him  not  —  or  dod  help  you.  Ah  !  Hum !  "  Brad- 
ford coughed  and  paused  in  doubt.  The  officer 
started  and  stared  at  him  sharply. 

"  What's  that,  sir?    What's  that  you  read?  " 

"  '  Or  God  help  you.'  sir.  it  reads."  continued 
Bradford.     "Let  me  see.     Yes.  yes!     He  is  — " 

"  Whose  name  is  signed  ?  "  snapped  the  officer. 


WHY  DAVID  DID  NOT  STAY         169 

"  He  is  on  the  business  of  the -two  Generals  and 
under  a  flag  of  truce.  (Signed)  Faulk  Stanfell, 
Captain,  D.  A.  G.,  etc." 

"  Fau!k  Stanfell.  Faulk  Stanfell,"  muttered  the 
officer.  "  Ah,  yes,  the  young  officer  on  the  general's 
staff.  Yes.  yes,  I  remember  now."  He  thought  a 
moment —  Then  turning  to  Wharton,  he  said, 
"  All  right,  pass,  sir." 

"  Give  him  the  paper,"  he  ordered,  turning  to 
Bradford.  "  And  thank  you,  sir,  very  much  for 
your  services." 

Without  more  ado  the  British  officer  strode  off 
into  the  night  with  a  pace  that  promised  nothing 
good  for  the  Honourable  Faulk. 

Whaxton  leaned  down  from  his  horse,  took  the 
paper  and  grasped  Bradford's  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Bradford,  a  thousand  times. 
Sorry  you  were  put  to  this  trouble." 

"  Not  at  all,  David.  Not  at  all.  Glad  to  have 
helped  you  even  if  you  are  on  the  wrong  side.  Call 
on  us  when  next  vou  come  to  town." 

David  thanked  him  again,  then  galloped  off  up 
the  street.  He  was  smarting  from  the  delay,  and 
he  vowed  it  would  take  a  whole  regiment  to  stop 
him  another  time.  As  he  rode  from  the  town  he 
was  challenged  by  a  soldier,  but  when  he  galloped 
by  he  noted  that  his  challenger  was  hardly  able  to 


■■ 


160       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


If  '"t 


^h\ 


inj 


stand  upon  his  feet.  Before  he  had  passed  very  far 
David  heard  the  soldier  singing  a  drinking  song 
at  the  top  of  his  voice.  There  was  left  but  one  dif- 
ficult point  to  pass.  Now  that  he  was  clear  of  the 
town  he  would  find  little  danger  of  being  intercepted 
in  this  open  country  if  he  could  once  get  by  the 
British  outposts,  he  thought  for  a  moment  of 
taking  to  the  woods  and  fields  on  approaching  these 
outpost  camps  and  thus  having  a  good  chance  of 
getting  by  unseen.  But  then  he  reasoned  that  if  he 
were  caught  under  such  circumstances  his  pass 
would  be  of  little  help  to  him.  He  decided  that  the 
wiser  way  was  to  ride  up  boldly,  show  the  pass,  and 
take  iiis  chances  at  being  detained. 

Presently  some  distance  across  the  fields  he  spied 
the  camp-fire  of  the  outpost.  He  touched  the  spurs 
to  his  horse  and  galloped  madly  towards  it.  He 
didn't  know  the  nature  of  the  danger  that  threatened 
his  general,  nor  how  imminent  it  was,  but  one  thing 
he  felt  sure  of  and  that  was  that  the  fate  of  the 
whole  Continental  army  rested  with  him,  and  that 
he  would  get  through  to  warn  it  one  way  or  an- 
other.    Nothing  could  stop  him. 

A  challenge  rang  out  from  up  the  road. 

David  drew  in  his  horse  and  yelled  back. 

"  I  am  a  messenger  on  the  business  of  the  gen- 
erals." 


WHY  DAVID  DID  NOT  STAY 


161 


He  approached   the   sentry   on   the   trot.      The 
soldier  barred  the  way. 

"  Your  pass,"  he  demanded. 

David  gripped  his  reins  fiercely.  This  perfectly 
disciplined  machine-like  soldier  sent  a  chill  through 
him.  He  began  to  doubt  whether  the  little  note 
written  by  a  half-drunken  captain  would  be  of  any 
use  to  him  in  dealing  wich  such  men  as  these.  He 
drew  the  note  from  his  pocket.  About  a  dozen 
paces  from  them  at  the  side  of  the  road  glowed  the 
big  fire.  Near  this  stood  a  small  man ;  evidently 
the  officer  in  command.  The  sentinel  motioned  to 
David  to  give  his  paper  to  this  officer,  commanding 
him  at  the  same  time  to  dismount.  Desperate  m 
his  impatience  David  hesitated  to  obey.  Instinct- 
ively he  glanced  about  him.  This  was  a  fatal  move. 
It  aroused  stronger  suspicions.  The  officer  bv  the 
fire  regarded  him  narrowly,  and  the  sentinel  held 
his  rifle  as  though  I.e  expected  the  rebel  horseman 
to  make  a  dash  for  it.  David  dismounted  and 
walked  his  horse  over  to  the  fire.  He  saluted  and 
handed  his  pass  to  the  little  man. 

Without  a  word  the  officer  took  the  paper,  un- 
folded it.  and  read.  After  a  moment  he  glanced  up 
at  the  rebel  messenger,  scrutinized  him  keenly,  and 
read  the  note  again.  Meanwhile  David's  heart  sank 
within  him.     Although  the  officer  had  not  spoken 


Hi 


162       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

a  word  his  manner  seemed  to  say  all  too  plainly, 
"  Nobody  passes  here  without  us  knowing  all  about 
him."  The  man  began  to  shake  his  head  very 
slowly.  David  nervously  pulled  at  the  saddle  with 
one  hand.  Oh,  if  only  the  sentinel  wasn't  quite  so 
close.  He  felt  that  the  fellow  had  not  resumed  his 
beat,  but  was  standing  where  he  had  left  him.  He 
dared  not  openly  look  around.  The  ofificer  stopped 
wagging  his  head,  but  continued  to  stare  thought- 
fully at  the  paper.  David  bent  over  and  fumbled 
with  a  stirrup,  and  while  in  this  position  glanced 
under  his  arm  to  where  he  had  left  the  sentinel.  He 
was  no  longer  there.  Evidently  he  had  walked  a 
short  distance  down  the  road. 

*'  No,  no,"  spoke  the  little  man  softly,  but  very 
decidedly,  "  this  is  not  enough." 

David  straightened  himself  up.  trembling  he  knew 
not  from  w-hat.  He  had  deciaed  on  his  course  of 
action  if  refused  leave  to  pass. 

"  We  will  have  to  detain  you,  Captain  Wharton, 
whilst  we  communicate  with  General  Howe.  I 
cannot  accept  this.  We  will  have  word  back  here 
in  half  an  hour  at  the  latest." 

The  man  turned  half  around  and  was  on  the  point 
of  summoning  the  sentinel,  when  out  of  the  corner 
of  one  eye  he  caught  a  sudden  movement  of  David's. 
He  flashed  around,  at  the  same  moment  springing 


WHY  DAVID  DID  NOT  STAY  163 

at  the  horse.    David  was  caught  when  hut  half  in 
the  saddle.     But  he  was  not  caught  at  a  disadvan- 
tage.    He  broke  the  man's  hold  for  a  second  with 
a  blow  from  his  fist  and  just  managed  to  wriggle 
into  the  saddle  before  he  was  gripped  again.     This 
little  man  was  all  muscle.     He  fairly  sprang  on  to 
the  horse  in  his  endeavour  to  drag  David  down, 
breathing  through  his  teeth  as  he  struggled,  "  No 
you  don't,  damn  it;   no  you  don't."     He  had  quite 
forgotten  to  summon  the  guard,  and  David  thanked 
God  for  it.     Fearful  lest  any  second  the  sentinel 
would  reappear  David  fought  desperately.     He  was 
the  larger  and  the  stronger  of  the  two,  or  the  battle 
could  have  but  one  ending.     David  got  his  arm 
around  the  other's  neck  and  almost  succeeded  in 
hurling  him  to  the  ground,  hut  the  man's  grip  held 
and  David  was  nearly  torn  from  the  saddle.     To 
save  himself  he  dug  his  heels  into  the  horse's  belly. 
The  horse,  stung  by  the  deep  cutting  spurs,  lunged 
forward  and  galloped  off  up  the  road  with  the  two 
men  clinging  to  its  back.     At  this  moment  the  sen- 
tinel caught  sight  of  them,  and  started  shouting  to 
arouse  the  soldiers  in  encampment  close  by. 

For  the  time  David  gave  a!i  his  attention  to  keep- 
ing himself  from  being  thrown.  He  had  a  stout 
saddle  to  cling  to,  and  both  his  hands  were  occupied 
in  clinging  to  it.    As  for  the  little  officer,  he  was  in 


164       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLF.Y  FORGE 


a  better  position.  He  clung  to  David.  For  the  first 
few  moments  he  had  his  hands  full  in  doing  this; 
but  after  the  first  mad  gallop  the  pace  of  the  horse 
became  more  even.  Then  the  little  man  withdrew 
one  arm  about  David's  waist.  Steadying  himself 
he  aimed  a  powerful  blow  witii  his  fist  for  just  be- 
hmd  his  opponent's  ear.  But  he  missed  his  mark 
and  struck  a  less  vulnerable  mark.  It  served  how- 
ever tij  bring  David's  attention  back  sharply  to  the 
situation.  He  took  a  new  hold  on  the  saddle  with 
his  left  hand,  twisted  about  slightly,  and  managed 
to  grip  the  other  man  by  the  collar  of  his  coat  with 
his  riglit.  By  sheer  strength  he  forced  him  down 
on  to  the  side  of  the  horse,  and  as  the  Englishman 
was  struggling  there  to  keep  his  hold  David  seized 
the  advantas'^e  offered  to  strike  a  hard  downward 
stroke  with  his  fist  on  to  the  other's  upraised  face. 
The  blow  was  true,  landing  on  the  point  of  the  jaw. 
The  man  clutched  convulsively,  tlien  slid  limply 
from  the  horse.  It  was  none  too  soon.  David 
heard  muffled  hoofbeats  close  behind  him.  He 
spurred  his  horse  on.  As  he  rounded  a  bend  in  the 
road  a  shot  rang  out.  Fearing  he  would  have  little 
chance  if  seriously  pursued,  his  horse  being  already 
tired  from  the  long  ride  in  from  \'alley  Forge  that 
day,  he  turned  into  the  woods  and  waited.  Two 
horses  gallojied  by.     He  gave  lliem  time  to  get  a 


WHY  DAVID  DID  NOT  STAY 


165 


good  distance  ahead  of  him,  then  turned  back  into 
the  road  and  trotted  on.  He  kept  his  ears  open, 
and  he  stared  into  the  dark  ahead  of  him  for  some 
sign  of  his  pursuers  returning. 

An  hour  went  by,  and  no  sign  of  the  hor.semen. 
David  was  wild  with  impatience.  He  had  been 
riding  at  a  slow  trot  for  fear  of  running  into  them. 
His  senses  were  aching  from  the  strain.  Every 
other  tree  took  the  indistinct  form  of  a  man  or  of 
a  horse.  Suddenly  voices  sounded  clearly  but  a 
short  distance  in  front  of  him.  He  turned  his  horse 
abruptly  to  the  side  and  forced  his  way  in  between 
the  close  standing  trees.  He  stopped  just  within, 
knowing  that  the  darkness  would  hide  him.  Pres- 
ently the  two  men  rode  by  slowly  and  silently.  The 
crunch  of  horses'  hoot  died  away,  and  the  road 
was  open  for  him  to  Valley  l'^)rge.  The  minute  he 
felt  that  the  men  were  out  of  hearing  he  broke  from 
his  hiding-place,  paused  in  the  road  to  listen,  then 
put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  started  on  a  wild  ride 
on  which  the  fate  of  a  great  cause  hune. 

Shortly  before  midnight  David  heard  the  wel- 
come challenge  from  the  outer  pickets.  He  gave 
the  password  and  rode  up  to  them.  He  was  about 
to  speak  when  suddenly  he  toppled  over  and  slid 
to  the  ground.  The  excited  guards  gathered 
around  him.     They  helped  him  to  his  feet,  and  he 


4 


■-   - — 


u 


H*' 


li 


166       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

tokl  them  in  broken  sentences  of  the  threatened 
danger  to  the  general.  He  ordered  that  word  be 
taken  directly  to  \\  ashington.  Two  of  the  pickets 
helped  him  through  the  snow  to  their  little  camp. 


'■if 


ifil 


-^  i 


mm 


CHAPTER    X 


THE  EXPEDITION  IS  DISPATCHED  IN   HASTE 


The  conversation  between  Anne  and  Captain 
Stanfell  began  to  lag.  Stanfell  was  getting  very 
sleepy,  and  despite  his  many  accomplishments  and 
best  efforts  his  attempts  at  entertaining  his  beloved 
Miss  Bradford  were  failures.  After  a  time  he  gave 
up  trying  to  .say  witty  things  and  sank  back  in  his 
chair.  But  perhaps  it  was  partly  .Xnne's  fault.  Her 
thoughts  were  on  other  things.  The  fact  that  she 
had  been  used  by  an  unscrupulous  traitor  in  this 
plot  i)f  kidnapping  the  rebel  general-in-chief  preyed 
upon  her  mind.  She  felt,  at  times,  a  powerlessness 
against  the  evil  of  Barnabas  that  chilled  her.  H 
he  had  made  her  do  this  thing  what  could  he  not 
make  her  do?  She  arose  nervously  from  her  seat 
and  started  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room  With 
all  her  fierce  and  growing  desire  to  do  right  and  be 
noble  in  everything  in  life,  in  contrast  to  Barnabas 
and  his  wretched  mother,  would  he  turn  her  aside 
into  doing  his  devil's  will'    She  stopped  still  under 


168       A  SOI.DIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


tlie  hip,  plowing  lamp,  her  head  bowed  and  her  small 
hands  clinched. 

Stanfell.  aroused  by  Anne's  movements,  had  been 
watching  her  silently  and  with  increasing  wcnider. 
Now,  when  she  came  to  such  a  dramatic  stand  under 
the  liftht,  iiC  sat  straiglit  up  to  m.c  the  hetier.  Pres- 
etitly  he  l>egan  wagging  a  finger  at  her,  hoping  to 
attract  her  attention.  He  was  just  about  to  speak 
when  the  door  opened  and  in  stepped  Barnabas. 
Anne  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  his  step  and  for 
a  moment  they  regarded  one  anotiier.  Barnabas 
glanced  towards  Stanfell. 

"  .All !  ^■ou're  here  then,  are  you  ?  T  thouglit 
this  might  be  the  most  likely  place  to  find  you." 
He  grinned  at  his  sister.  "  And  Captain  Wharton, 
is  he  here  too?  '" 

"It  seem>  to  me  you're  uncommon  anxious  to 
find  Wharton,"  said  Stanfell.  "  This  is  the  second 
time  you've  been  here  in  the  la.st  hour  to  find  him, 
and  —  " 

"  No,"  broke  in  .\nne.  "  David  left  a  short  time 
ago  for  General  Howe's." 

Barnabas  looked  at  her  narrowly. 

"  What  did  he  return  so  quickly  for,  Anne,  and 
alone?"  he  demanded. 

"  Demn  me.  why,  of  cour.se  to  see  you,"  said 
Stanfell.     "  You  were  looking  for  him,  but  I  told 


THE  EXPEDITION 


169 


him  not  to  go,  I  did.  My  duty's  right  here  with 
Miss  Bradford." 

"  /  was  looking  for  him  ?  I  wasn't  looking  for 
anybody  until  just  ten  minutes  ago,  when  I  started 
out  in  search  of  Wharton." 

The  ilonourabie  Faulk  turned  to  Anne  for  as- 
sistance. 

"  Miss  Bradford,  wasn't  he  hunting  for  Captain 
Wharton?  Now,  wa.sn't  he?  Egad,  I  had  to  get 
him  home  on  my  own  signature." 

**  I'm  afraid  Captain  Stanfell  has  things  mixed," 
said  Anne  with  a  little  smile.  "  David  has  returned 
to  headquarters,  to  General  Howe's,  in  search  of 
you." 

Anne  felt  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  at  ease  now 
with  Barnabas.  The  storm  of  bitterness  that  was 
raging  in  her  dispelled  her  fears  of  him.  and  every 
move  she  made  against  him  and  his  evil  plans  was 
balm  to  her  wounds. 

"  But  how  could  he  get  back  alone  ?  "  demanded 
Barnabas  suspiciously. 

"  Barnabas,  do  sit  down  and  be  quiet  and  stop 
cross-examining  me."  said  Anne,  turning  on  him 
impatiently.  "  Why  couldn't  Captain  Stanfell  give 
David  a  pass  back  lo  headquarters?  How  do  you 
manage  to  travel  about  town  all  by  yourself?" 

Anne  resumed  her  seat  near  Stanfell. 


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170       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


ii  M»  »!  f 


"And  why  not,  Captain  Bradford?"  demanded 
the  Honourable  Faulk.  "  Demn  me,  why  not  ?  I 
wrote  him  a  pass  that  would  take  him  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth ;  —  anywheres  he  wanted  to  go."  He 
finished  with  a  long  sweep  of  the  arm. 

Barnabas  turned  suddenly  toward  the  door. 

"  Well,  I'll  get  back  to  Howe's  then  and  find 
David."  He  glanced  back  to  Anne.  "  You're  tell- 
ing me  the  truth,  x\nne?  He  has  gone  back  there 
looking  for  me !  " 

"  You'll  find  him  there,  no  doubt,"  said  Anne 
quietly. 

At  this  moment  heavy  steps  sounded  on  the  stairs 
without  the  door. 

"Who  is  coming?"  asked  Barnabas.  "Ah,  it 
sounds  like  the  Old  Man's  footsteps." 

Mr.  Bradford  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He 
paused  on  seeing  his  son,  and  for  a  moment  his  face 
clouded,  then  with  an  evident  effort  he  smiled.  He 
had  not  yet  got  used  to  Barnabas  reformed  and  did 
not  trust  him. 

"  Ho,  sir,  you  seem  displeased  at  finding  me 
here.  Let  bygones  be  bygones  and  take  me  as  you 
find  me  to-day.  We  all  have  our  little  past,  you 
know,  and  some  have  their  little  present,  too.  How- 
ever, I  must  run  if  I'm  to  catch  David  at 
Howe's." 


THE  EXPEDITION 


171 


•'  David?  "  demanded  John  with  surprise.  "  Are 
you  looking  for  David  Wharton?  He  passed  me 
this  half-hour  gone,  riding  it  through  the  town  as 
though  the  devils  were  after  him." 

"Riding?"  hissed  Barnabas.  "Where  was  he 
going?  In  what  direction?  Quick,  man,  towards 
Valley  Forge?  " 

"  Yes,  towards  Valley  Forge." 

"  Oh,  father,  are  you  sure  it  was  David?  "  asked 
Anne.     "  How  could  you  see  in  this  light?" 

"  Just  it,  I  couldn't,"  returned  her  father.  "  He 
was  stopped  by  an  English  ofiicer,  a  colonel  or 
something,  and  I  had  to  read  David's  pass,  the  pass 
written  by  Captain  Stanfell,  out  to  him." 

Without  a  word  Barnabas  slipped  from  the  room 
and  hurriedly  left  the  hou.se.  John  breathed  a  sigh 
of  relief,  and  picked  out  the  most  comfortable  chair 
and  sank  back  into  it.  Stanfell  studied  the  ceil- 
ing in  some  doubt  a  moment  or  two  and  then 
asked, 

"  Did  you  say  the  officer  who  read  my  pass  was 
a  colonel,  Mr.   Bradford?" 

"  I  think  he  was,"  said  John  .shortly,  unwilling 
to  be  disturbed  any  more. 

"  Demn  me.  a  colonel."  soliloquized  Stanfell, 
stroking  his  hair  thoughtfully.  "  A  colonel.  Seems 
to  me  there's  a  colonel  most  everywhere,  poking  his 


172       A   SOLDIKR   OF   VALLEY   FOR(.E 

nose  into  private  correspondence."  Soon  however 
he  forgot  his  trouble  and  sank  back  sleepily  into  his 
chair. 


I? 


Meanwhile  Barnabas  made  his  way,  with  all  pos- 
sible speed,  back  to  Sir  William's.  He  immediately 
went  t(j  the  stables  and  inquired  again  if  Captain 
Wharton  had  taken  a  horse.  On  learning  that 
he  had,  Barnabas  hurried  into  the  house  and 
found  Sir  William  and  had  a  short  talk  with 
him.  As  they  were  talking  Temple  entered  the 
room. 

"Captain  Bradford  says  how  in  all  probability 
Captain  Wharton  has  got  wind  of  our  plans  and 
has  gone  to  warn  the  camp  at  Valley  Forge,"  said 
the  general.  "  I  agree  with  him  that  we  must  act 
with  all  possible  dispatch."  They  talked  earnestly 
in  low  tones  for  a  few  minutes,  then  all  three  arose 
from  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen."  said  Sir  William.  "  We  must  now 
drink  to  the  success  of  this  little  affair."  He  rang 
a  bell,  and  on  a  servant  appearing  Sir  William  or- 
dered the  punch.  When  it  arrived  the  three  sta- 
tioned themselves  around  the  howl,  and  the  com- 
mander-in-chief himself  filled  the  glasses. 

"  What  this  expedition  means  to  His  Majesty,  to 
England  and  to  every  good  Christian  that  abhors 


f  ^. 


THE   EXPEDITION 


173 


a  fool  war,  I  won't  explain  to  you.  as  you  already 
understand.  Here,  then,  gentlemen,  may  it  suc- 
ceed! " 

They  drained  their  glasses. 

Ten  minutes  later  Captain  Bradford  stood  out 
in  thf?  big  courtyard,  chatting  to  different  members 
of  his  troop.  He  took  great  pains  that  most  of  the 
men  saw  him  before  at  last  he  went  into  the  big 
unused  shed,  where  the  men  were  to  have  dinner 
served  to  them,  and  lay  down  on  a  bed  of  straw. 
The  spacious  courtyard  was  well  lighted  by  big 
coach-lanterns  stuck  about  here  and  there  on  short 
poles.  Aproned  cooks  hurried  to  and  fro  from  the 
steaming  kitchen  to  the  shed  where  the  troopers 
were  to  eat  their  dinner.  The  half-starved  men 
from  Valley  Forge  lent  willing  hands  to  the  car- 
rying of  heavy  and  savoury  pots.  Even  what  little 
bustle  and  excitement  that  was  here  meant  a  great 
deal  to  men  who  had  spent  so  many  months  out 
in  the  wilds.  They  even  quite  forgot  their  good 
cause  for  which  they  were  such  willing  sufferers 
for  the  moment.  A  good  dinner  was  all  they  were 
living  for  now,  and  until  they  had  that,  they  would 
think  of  nothing  else.  They  laughed,  they  joked, 
thcv  sang.  When  a  man  emerged  from  the  kitchen 
urder  the  weight  of  a  great  dish  that  seemed  to  bow 
him  down,  four  troopers  rushed  to  help  him,  and 


n 


W'^^ 


M 


174       A  SOLDIER  OF   VALLEY   FORGE 

while  all  were  attempting  to  get  their  hands  on  the 
dish  at  the  same  time,  they  jogged  against  the  ear- 
ner so  tliat  ins  feet  slipped  on  the  snowy  ground, 
and  he  came  down  dish  and  all. 

There  was  a  lull  throughout  tlie  courtyard.     If 
china   was  broken  after  dinner   it   wouldn't  have 
bothered  anybody  much,  but  a  crash  of  breaking 
china  before  dinner  caused  the  hungry  hearers  the 
deepest  of  misgivings.     Everybody  ran  to  the  spot. 
The  man  who  had  been  carrying  the  dish,  one  of 
Sir   William's   English   servants,   after   he  had   re- 
ceived the  contents  of  the  broken  platter,  three  tur- 
keys and  much  hot  gravy,  over  his  person,  got  to 
his  feet  in  a  blind  rage,  and  started  to  show  the 
rebel  ruftians  what  they  were.     The  good-natured 
troopers,  however,  being  sorry  for  the  accident  they 
had  caused   (and  they  were  more  sorry  for  them- 
selves, as  it  was  their  dinner,  than  for  the  man  who 
had  received  so  much  hot  gravy),  gathered  up  the 
three  fowls  off  the  snow  on  [o  pieces  of  the  platter, 
and  attempted  to  scrape  the  congealed  gravy  from 
the  servant's  clothes.     They  begged  pardon,  though 
quite   ineffectually,  over  and   over  again,   until   at 
last,  finding  that  it  was  of  no  avail,  but  that  their 
grandnu)thers.  ancestors,  themselves  and  the  cause 
for  which  they  fought,  were  being  sent  to  perdition 
as  heartily  as  ever,  no  matter  how  energetically  they 


THE  EXPEDITION 


175 


scraped  the  gravy  from  their  tormentor's  back,  they 
desisted  and  Hed  fur  the  dinner-table  to  deposit  the 
three  fowls.  Shouts  of  laugliter  broke  out  at  their 
retreat. 

Within  tlie  house  all  was  light  and  bustle,  too. 
It  was  nearing  the  dinner  liour  and  Sir  William 
was  having  some  distinguished  gentlemen,  just  ar- 
rived from  England,  to  dine  with  him.  Sir  Will- 
iam was  shut  up  in  his  little  dressing-room,  getting 
fretfully  into  his  evening  clothes.  He  was  just 
deciding  for  the  thousandth  time  that  all  this  was 
a  fool  business  and  no  war  at  all,  and  if  England 
understood  that  other  countries  were  not  all  like 
herself,  the  war  would  be  ended  in  a  week.  He 
indulged  in  a  little  quiet  cursing  of  King  George 
and  Lord  North,  and  the  English  public  in  general, 
who  were  sitting  at  home  criticizing  and  condemn- 
ing his  work.  He  decided  every  time  he  got  into  a 
very  bad  humour  that  he  would  resign  the  com- 
mand immediately.  In  fact  in  the  course  of  getting 
one  boot  on  to  a  sore  foot  he  resigned  his  com- 
mand three  times  and  was  beginning  on  the  fourth 
resignation  when  the  boot  went  on. 

Temple  was  occupying  himself  with  other  busi- 
ness than  dressing  for  a  good  dinner.  Immediately 
after  liis  last  conference  with  Howe  and  Barnabas, 
he  had  busied  himself  with  getting  half  of  his  troop 


176       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


;i: 


V 


I!!       i 


together.     He  ordered  the  men  to  go  (juietly  to  a 
big  emi)ty  room  in  the  back  of  tlie  liouse.     There 
after  ten  or  rifteen  minutes  he  met  them  and  ex- 
plained the  course  of  action  decided  on  by  the  gen- 
eral;    ahhough  the  general  was  not  mentioned  as 
having   anything    whatever   to   do   with    this    little 
expedition.      'IVmple    referred    to   it    as    though    it 
was  all  an  idea  of  his  own  which  he  was  carrying 
out   quite   independently.      It   was   now   quite  dark 
without  and  Temple  considered  the  time  ripe   for 
the  first  imptjrtant  move.     He  went  to  the  window 
that  gave  on  to  the  ojurtyard  and  looked  out.     Most 
of  Bradford's  men  were  at  this  moment  gathered 
about  the  swearing  English  servant,  and  nearly  all 
of  the  rebel  s(jl(liers  were  out  in  the  courtyard,  out 
of  reach  oi  any  weapons  that  might  be  lying  about 
in  the  sheds. 

"  Now."  .said  Temple,  turning  to  his  men,  "  file 
out  quietly  and  take  your  stand  as  I  explained  to 
you.  Let  there  be  no  bungling  now  and  we'll  have 
everything  done  quickly  and  cpiietly.  There's  not 
an  instant  to  lose.  Even  at  this  mometit  perhaps 
word  is  being  carried  to  \'allcy  Eorge.  Our  only 
chance  is  in  speed." 

'1  he  men  slipped  from  the  room,  descended  into 
the  kitchen  and  there  lined  up,  fifteen  meti  at  each 
of  the  doors  that  opened  to  the  courtyard.     Each 


if 
•■  i 

I 


li 


THE   EXPEDITION 


177 


man  carried  a  small  bundle  of  clothes  under  his 
arm.  At  a  \V(jrd  from  Temple  the  two  lines  filed 
out  into  the  yard,  and  formed  tliemselves  in  a  great 
loose  circle  enclosing  the  wliole  of  the  open  space. 
As  they  walked  from  the  house  they  were  taken 
little  heed  of.  Everybody  at  that  moment  was 
watching  the  three  .soldiers  conveying  the  three 
fowls  to  the  dinner  shed. 

Temple's  \oice  rang  out. 

"  I  want  every  man  to  go  into  the  big  shed  there; 
every  man  of  you."  He  sto(xl  in  the  centre  of  the 
yard.  The  Americans  >tared  at  the  English  officer 
with  surpri>e  not  unmixed  with  suspicion.  Re- 
marks and  some  protests  w  ere  made  here  and  there, 
but  the  general  feeling  was  one  of  good  nature  even 
if  the  young  Englishman's  order  was  a  little  abrupt. 
Moreover,  the  dinner  was  laid  in  the  same  shed. 

As  all  his  men  came  filing  into  the  room  at  once, 
Barnabas  got  up  from  his  bed  of  straw  and  de- 
manded of  them  what  was  up. 

"  We  were  ordered  in  here,  sir."  answered  the 
men. 

"Ordered  in?  Who  ordered  you  in  here?"  de- 
manded Barnabas,  making  his  voice  verv  fierce. 

At  that  moment  Temple  entered,  after  having 
posted  some  of  his  men  armed  with  muskets  at  the 
door  and  windows. 


h 

it 
;  i 


178       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

Barnabas  drew  himself  up  and  looked  sternly  at 
Tenii)!e.  lie  couhl  always  play  a  part,  and  he  loved 
the  game,  (le  could  put  himself  iiuo  his  acting  to 
such  a  wonderfid  degree,  that  when  he  was  i)laying 
the  hypocrite  he  was  much  more  genuine  than  when 
he  was  content  to  he  his  ordinary  self.  He  de- 
manded sternly  of  Temple. 

"  Sir,  what  does  this  itiean  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Temple  was  tempted  to  ignore 
him  altogether.  He  hated  this  work  and  did  it 
only  becau.se  it  was  his  duty,  and  the  evident  pleas- 
ure that  Barnabas  derived  from  his  devil's  work 
sickened  him.  He  wr^idered  at  that  moment  if  the 
man  before  him  had  any  inkling  of  what  honour 
was. 

"  I'm  ju.st  about  to  tell  you.  if  you'll  listen." 
answered  Temple  shortly.  Thanks  to  his  hate  for 
Barnabas,  he  did  not  find  it  difficult  to  play  his 
part. 

"  Men  —  eh  —  gentlemen."  began  Captain  Tem- 
ple, turning  his  back  on  Barnabas.  "  you  won't  be 
kept  from  your  flinner  ten  minutes.  All  you 
must  do  is  this.  I  want  every  man  to  drop  his 
shabby  uniform  and  put  on  these  others  in  ex- 
cliange.  He  pointed  to  a  heap  of  clothing 
which  a  couple  of  his  men  were  piling  just  inside 
the  door. 


THE  EXPEDITION 


179 


There  were  growls  of  protest  in  every  direction, 
and  Captain  Barnabas  began  a  speech  of  big,  indig- 
nant words  when  Temple  broke  in. 

"There!"  he  cried,  jerking  his  head  forward, 
and  shooting  out  a  hand  at  the  men.  "  Shed  those 
clothes  quickly  and  (juietly!  Do  you  hear?  At 
this  door  are  my  men,  well  armed ;  you  haven't 
a  sword  amongst  you.  I'm  here  for  business.  Call 
it  by  what  names  you  please,  but  get  those  clothes 
Ofif." 

"  You  go  to  Hell!  "  roared  Barnabas,  playing  his 
part  well  and  making  a  rush  at  Temple. 

"  !f  Barnabas  is  at  such  pains  to  be  realistic.  I 
ought  to  be  realistic  too,"  thought  Temple.  He 
jumped  aside  out  of  the  way  and  landed  out  with 
his  list  on  Barnabas'  ear. 

By  this  time  the  cojumotion  amongst  the  men 
caused  by  Temple's  words  was  becoming  an  uproar. 
A  bench  or  two  was  quickly  knocked  to  pieces  to 
serve  as  clubs,  and  defiance  was  growing  fierce  and 
loud,  when  Temple  spoke  a  woi  d  to  one  of  his  men 
at  the  door.  In  ran  five  British  troopers  and  stood 
at  attention  near  their  captain.  These  armed  men 
had  a  quieting  efTect. 

"  Xow,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  English  cap- 
tain. "  the  quicker  you  flo  this  the  belter.  There's 
your  dinner  getting  cold.      You   shall   not   be  put 


li 


180       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORCE 

t«.  further  inconvenience,     'lliese  clothes  you"II  find 

better  than  your  own." 

"  Seize  thi.s  man,"  he  ordered,  turninj-  to  his  own 

men   and   pointing'  to    Barnabas.      Ten-plf   .l.„|,,ed 

aside  as  the  traitor  captain  catne  at   Inni.  and  all 

tlic  anf,-ry  troopers  .shouted  with  .scornful  Iauf,ditcr, 

thinkinp:    tlie    Hnglishnian    afraid.      Barnabas    was 

seized  by  two  of  the  Fn,-,dish  troopers. 

"  You  cur."  iie  hissed,  beside  himself  with  now 

genuine    fury   and    strugfrli„tr    to   get    at    Temple. 

"  You  dog,  Temple,  striking  me." 

Temple    stepped    over    to    the   end    of   the   long 

dinner-table  and  shouted  out  very  emphatically, 

"  If    any    man    refuses    to    o!)cy    he'll    be    shot. 
That's  all."     He  .said  the  "  that's  all  "  with  a  snap 
of  the  mouth  and  turned  away  towards  the  door, 
biting  his  lips.     Me  was  ashamed  of  his  weakness, 
for  he  felt  weak  at  that  moment.     This  7.'as  a  trai- 
tor's work  and  better  suited  to  the  practised  devil 
near  him  than  to  himself.     .\nne's  words  came  to 
his  mind,  "  And  now  T  have  plotted  with  a  traitor 
against  a  hero !     Is  thai  noble  ?  —  or  even  honest  ?  " 
The  words  cut  more  deeply  than  ever.     Then  he 
rou.sed  himself  and  tried  to  throw  aside  his  rlouhts. 
After  all.  he  reasoned,  he  was  a  man  and  in  war 
and  was  doiiig  a  man's  work.    Tlicse  fears  were  for 
women.     His  mind  was  relieved  after  these  reflec- 


THE   EXPEDITION 


181 


tions;  but  deep  in  liis  heart  lie  wondered  where 
was  tlie  feehnj;  of  unhinitcd  strength  that  he  always 
had  when  doinji;  work  that  he  knew  to  he  nohle. 

Barnal)as.  kicking  and  stnij,'ghng',  was  carried 
away  to  Ije  I(.cked  up.  Then  there  followed  ten 
nnnutes  of  tense  stillness  while  the  Atnericans  were 
<iheyin,t,'  the  orders  given  them,  while  under  the 
tlag  of  truce,  at  the  muzzles  of  muskets.  Temple 
sat  on  a  broken  box  in  a  corner  and  tried  to  look 
stern  and  unconcerned,  but  every  mintUe  he  hated 
himself  more,  and  .\nne's  words  burned  deeper  iiUo 
his  brain.  Presently  he  summoned  ten  oi  his  men 
and  ordered  them  to  collect  the  rebel  uniforms  and 
to  distribute  the  clothing  which  he  had  brought  in 
exchange.  When  this  was  completed  Temple  got 
up  and  forcing  more  dignity  into  his  voice  and 
bearing  than  was  necessary,  said, 

"  Every  stitch  which  we  have  borrowed  shall  be 
returned  to  you  to-morrow.  You  cannot  leave  this 
shed  until  to-morrow  morning.  Tliere  is  your 
dinner." 

As  Temple  was  turning  away  out  jumped  a  small 
man  into  the  clear  space  in  front  of  him  and  de- 
manded of  him  what  devil's  game  was  this  that 
they,  coming  peacefully  under  the  protection  of  a 
flag  of  truce,  should  be  robbed  of  their  clothes  and 
then  hJd  prisoners,     fhe  little  man  waved  his  fist 


T 


[.Hj- 


]..'■ 


182       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

accusingly    at    Temple    and    sent    his    words    well 
home. 

For  a  moment  Temjile  thought  it  better  to  ignore 
him  and  pass  out.  But  this  for  some  reason  he 
found  impossible.     He  turned  and  said  simply, 

"  ll  is  war." 

This  was  the  only  explanation  he  knew  of;  and 
he  went  out  followed  by  his  men.  After  posting 
two  men  at  the  door  and  one  at  each  of  the  two 
windows,  he  had  all  the  lights  extinguished  and 
the  courtyard  left  in  darkness,  save  where  here  and 
there  faint  rays  struggled  through  the  shuttered 
windows  of  the  house.  He  then  reentered  by  the 
kitchen  door,  followed  by  the  remaining  troopers. 

Twenty  minutes  later  men  entered  the  dark 
courtyard  from  the  alleyway.  Barn  doors  were 
softly  opened  and  horses  brought  out,  and  there 
followed  a  subdued  noise  of  bustle  and  preparation. 
Presently  in  twos  and  threes  they  rode  from  the 
courtyard  down  the  alleyway.  The  horses'  hoof- 
beats  were  deadened  by  the  new  fallen  snow.  On 
reaching  the  street  they  quickly  formed  themselves 
into  line  two  abreast,  and  at  a  word  from  their 
commander  started  off  down  the  street  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Valley  Forge. 


CHAPTER    XI 


FOILED 


The  little  body  of  twenty-eig^ht  horsemen  gal- 
loped on  unnoticed  until  they  neared  the  outposts 
of  Howe's  army  a  short  distance  from  the  town. 
Here  was  the  same  little  officer  in  charge  of  affairs 
that  had  caused  such  trouble  to  David  Wharton  in 
his  vild  ride  to  Valley  Forge  a  few  hours  before. 
The  officer  looked  surprised  when  these  troopers 
rode  up,  especially  as  they  were  clad  in  Continental 
uniforms;  and  it  took  nothing  less  than  the  for- 
midable signature  of  Sir  William  Howe  himself  to 
ease  his  suspicions.  Temple,  of  course,  had  fore- 
seen this  difficulty  and  had  procured  from  the  gen- 
eral-in-chief  a  :,ote  written  clearly  and  emphatic- 
ally to  anyone  whatsoever  who,  thinking  this  body 
of  horsemen  to  be  rebel  soldiers  might  try  to  inter- 
fere with  their  plans.  After  passing  the  Briti'^h 
outpost  the  little  company  swept  on.  Every  man 
felt  to  some  degree  the  stimulus  of  excitement. 
These  British  soldiers  were  not  used  to  any  such 

183 


il 


i    ■ 


i! 


SI 'J.,! 


¥' 


li  ' 


tii 


Hi, ;  I 


II 

\^ 

Ml  1 

9 

A- 

li 

)     i 

fe 

I  ^ 

I I 

184       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORCIE 

stimulus,  even  when  on  the  field  of  battle,  hut  the 
secrecy   and   stranj^encss   of   their   mission   thrilled 
them  now.     Here  they  were  in  the  wilderness  of 
that  far-away  New  World,  America.     They  were 
clad  in  the  enemy's  colours,  and  they,  a  mere  hand- 
ful of  men.  were  to  kidnap  a  ffeneral-in-chief ;    to 
pick  him  out  of  the  very  heart  of  his  army,  and  take 
hmi  home.    It  was  this  prospect  they  enjoyed     The 
element  in  this  work  of  skill  and  daring  was  so 
vastly  dififerent  from  the  mechanical  give  and  take 
of  the  battle-field.     Every  man  felt  himself  in  this 
expedition  not  one  of  a  whole,  an  automaton,  hut 
lie    telt   himself   to   be   of   indixidual    importance 
Each  man  felt  himself  responsible  for  the  success 
of  the  expedition. 

Barnabas,  clad  in  a  private's  uniform,   rode  at 
.  the  foot  of  the  column.     He  kept  as  far  from  Tem- 
ple as  he  could.     That  Barnabas  should  lead  the 
expedition  safely  past  the  American  outposts  was 
one  of  the  conditions  agreed  to.  so.  when  just  ten 
minutes  before  the  horsemen  left  Howe's  house  for 
\'alley  Forge  he  was  released  from  his  prison  room 
and  told  to  give  up  his  uniform  to  Temple  in  ex- 
change for  a  ragged  private's  outfit,  he  had  to  obey. 
It  was  for  his  own  interest  that  he  obeyed.     But 
while  this  man  could  control  his  feelings  as  long  as 
there  was  much  to  be  gained  by  his  doing  so,  w-lien 


^  Sl^ 


FOILED 


185 


that  incentive  was  withdrawn  he  was  no  longer 
master  of  liimself.  He  had  been  struck  by  Temple, 
and  he  had  not  got  back  at  him.  That  burned  in 
Iiis  brain  like  a  hot  iron.  That  he.  Barnabas  Brad- 
ford, had  been  struck,  and  had  done  nothing.  As 
he  rode  there,  close  on  the  heels  of  the  silent  com- 
pany, he  reviewed  in  his  mind  over  and  over  again 
the  scene  that  had  taken  place  in  the  shed  before 
so  many  eyes:  and  every  time  his  mental  picture 
reached  the  climax,  the  blow  from  Temple,  the 
blood  rushed  to  his  face  and  he  grew  dizzy.  Finally, 
feeling  it  to  be  wiser  to  bide  his  time  to  settle  with 
the  luiglishman,  !ie  tried  to  throw  these  too  vivid 
pictures  out  of  his  mind,  but  having  seldom  at- 
tempted to  master  his  mind  before,  he  now  found 
this  impossible;  the  memory  devils  would  come 
back  and  drive  him  from  his  repose  into  a  fever 
of  hate.  At  last,  unable  to  hold  his  jient-up  feelings 
any  longer,  he  drove  his  spurs  into  his  horse  and 
galloi>ed  up  to  Temple.  He  rode  beside  him  for 
some  time  without  a  word,  as  though  his  very  near- 
ness to  the  object  of  his  hate  cased  the  overflow  of 
his  feelings.  Temple,  too,  had  evidently  been  tliink- 
ing  of  Barnabas,  for  he  never  turned  his  head  but 
seemed  to  know  instinctively  who  was  riding  beside 
him.  In  these  few  minutes  of  silence  far  more 
damning  bitterness  passed  between  these  two  men 


■.■-  V—v 


f  '■  >j 


186   A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

than  was  afterwards  expressed  by  their  mere  words. 
When  at  last  Barnabas  did  si>eak,  his  voice  as 
very  deceptive  in  its  gentleness. 

"Vou  haven't  seen  the  last  of  me."  he  -id. 
"  You're  goinf^-  to  see  lots  more  of  me."  His  voice 
was  even,  neither  rising  nor  falling. 

"All  right,"  said  Temple  very,  very  simply: 
then  he  fairly  ex]jloded.  "  Damn  you,  devil  Brad- 
ford;  you  traitorous  fiend.  Ciod  forbid  that  I  ever 
see  your  face  again!  " 

He  spurred  his  horse  on  a  few  paces  ahead  of 
the  men. 

Barnabas  laughed  softly  to  himself  and  followed 
Temple. 

"  You  forget.  Temple."  he  said  as  soon  as  lie  got 
close  to  him,  "  you  forget  tliat  this  little  expedition, 
as  well  as  your  necks,  depends  on  me,  yes.  on  me. 
Ha !  Ha !  I  hadn't  though^  of  that  myself.  Why, 
that'll  be  very  easy;  we  come  to  the  outposts,  and 
pass  them  safely,  and  then  when  we  are  well  within 
the  trap.  I  give  the  warning  on  my  musket  here 
and  you  fellows  get  cut  to  pieces,  while  I  escape  by 
a  path  well  known  to  me.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Yes, 
Temple,  perhaps  ycnir  God  has  heard  your  prayer, 
and  will  forbid  you  ever  seeing  my  face  again." 

There    was    a    short    silence,    during    which    the 
rhythmical  tluulding  of  the  horses'  hoofs  .sounded 


FOILED 


187 


ghostly  indeed,  for  the  snow-laden  trees  crowded 
closely  on  each  side  of  the  road:  these  caused  a 
muffled  sound,  as  of  a  heavily  curtained  room,  when 
tlie  troopers  galloped  by. 

"  Now  you're  being  honest  and  showing  out  in 
your  true  colours,"  said  Temple  at  last,  having  re- 
gained his  composure.  "  So  you're  a  double  trai- 
tor; I  guessed  as  much.  One  thing's  certain,  if 
you  play  this  trick  now  you'll  hang  either  in  Wash- 
ington's camp  or  in  Howe's;  it  depend'  upon  which 
side  you're  on  at  the  time." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Barnabas.  "Well,  you 
wop't  be  there  to  see  it." 

Barnabas  gradually  dropped  back  to  his  fomier 
place,  turning  over  in  his  mind  his  plan  of  action. 
He  had  made  the  threat  more  to  show  Temple  what 
he  had  it  in  his  power  to  do,  than  with  any  intention 
of  carrying  it  out.  He  felt  that  to  betray  the  Eng- 
lishmen would  be  a  dangerous  way  of  getting  ven- 
geance, and  his  reward  if  they  succeeded  was  to 
be  a  good  one.  He  decided  again  to  bide  his 
time. 

Tliey  rode  on  hour  after  hour,  moving  at  an 
impatient  walk,  now  breaking  again  into  a  gallop. 
71ie  road  was  hard  and  comparatively  even  under 
the  loose  snow,  owing  to  the  hard  packing  of  the 
old  snow.     For  many  miles  at  a  time  the  way  led 


■i.r 


t  ( 


'V 


•111' 

m 


188      A   SOLDIER    OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

through  heavy  forests,  and  then,  at  a  sudden  turn- 
ing, it  would  come  out  into  the  open  sjjaces  of  the 
fields;  then  would  twinkle  the  yellow  lights  of  a 
farm-house.  This  all  was  of  interest  to  the  Eng- 
lish soldiers,  some  of  whom  had  just  come  out  from 
England  a  few  weeks  before.  They  talked  and 
joked  to  their  hearts"  content,  and  made  puns  ten- 
tenths  of  which  were  ver)  had.  Their  talk  was 
mostly  of  England  and  the  comparing  of  American 
scenery,  etc.,  with  the  English. 

When  they  had  covered  about  half  the  distance 
to  Valley  Eorge  Temple  turned  aside  and  led  the 
way  up  to  a  hig  farm-house.  A  light  shone  from 
an  upper  window.  Before  they  reached  the  door 
the  window  was  thrown  u])  and  a  woman's  voice 
demanded  who  they  were. 

Temple  waited  a  moment  in  hojies  that  Barnabas 
knew  the  people  of  the  house  and  would  reply. 
Also  he  feared  lest  his  English  accent  would  betray 
him.  But  as  his  waiting  i)roved  to  be  in  vain  he 
called  out. 

"  Madam,  we  are  American  soldiers.  We  want 
to  buy  a  li'tle  feed  for  our  horses,  and  something 
for  ourselves,  if  you  have  it." 

"  Who  are  you?     What's  your  name?" 

"  T'm  Ca[)tain  Morgan,"  he  replied,  giving  the 
first  rebel  name  that  came  to  his  memory.     "  We're 


FOILED 


189 


returning  to  Valley  Forge  after  an  examination  of 
the  riiiglisii  outposts  about  Philadelphia." 

The  light  was   withdrawn   from  the  room  and 
presently  apjK-ared  at  the  fnjnt  door. 

Owing  to  Temple's  having  cautioned  his  men  not 
to  talk  too  much,  and  also  owing  to  the  woman's 
ignorance  of  military  news,  the  trick  worked  out 
successfully.  Food  was  produced  for  both  the 
liorses  and  men,  and  it  is  needless  to  add  heartily 
partaken  of.  But  no  time  was  wasted.  .-\s  soon 
as  they  were  finished  Temple  paitl  tlie  woman  lib- 
erally and  ordered  the  men  into  their  saddles.  They 
took  a  moment  to  fill  and  light  their  pipes,  then  they 
stalked  out  of  the  cosy,  warm  kitchen  with  its  now 
glowing  fire  into  the  black  winter's  nigln.  But  now 
they  felt  a  great  deal  jollier  than  when  they  had 
arrived  there. 

It  was  about  midnight  when  they  spied  the  twin- 
kle of  the  outpost  fires  of  Washington's  army.  Tem- 
ple called  a  halt.  and.  in  a  voice  polite  as  he  could 
make  it,  summoned  Barnabas  to  come  to  the  head 
of  the  column.  Barnabas  obeyed.  Then  they  rode 
on  at  a  fast  trot.  Very  likely  the  camp  had  been 
warned  a  little  wiiile  before.  They  had  not  had 
time  to  make  strong  preparations  though,  so  Tem- 
i^lc  decided  to  do  the  work  with  a  dash. 

As  they  approached  the  fires  they  were  challenged. 


1 


Il 


-i^    i^:V 


190       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

and  Barnabas  answered,  giving  the  password  and 
a  slHMi.  clever  explanation  of  their  business;    they 
were  the  half-troop  that  left  that  same  morning,  re- 
turning with  Major  Carr,  who  had  been  released  to 
them  in  exchange  for  Major  Burton.     The  guard 
although   they  had  been  vaguely  warned  of  some 
approaching  danger,  were  completely  fooled.     They 
were  expecting  this  half-troop  to  return  about  this 
same  hour,  atul  here  was  the  half-troop,  evidently 
by  their  uniforms  the  same  men  that  had  left  that 
morning.     Of  course,  the  dickering  light  of  a  fire 
was  not  the  best  means  by  which  to  examine  them. 
\\  ith  an  exultant  thrill   in  every  man's  heart  the 
little  handful  rode  free  into  the  arms  of  the  evidently 
sleeping  camp.     Here  around  them  lav  a  great  hos- 
tile army,  and  they,  this  tiny  bodv  of  horsemen,  were 
dashing  into  its  very  midst  to  steal  its  brain  away. 
And  then,  what  added  more  to  the  excitement  was 
the  knowledge  that  perhaps  the  camp  was  not  really 
-^leepmg.  —  it  might  be  quietly  waiting  for  them. 
Every  man  peered  into  the  darkness  about. 

Suddenly  they  were  challenged.  Bradford  an- 
swered as  before.  Then  they  were  ordered  to  stop, 
but  Barnabas,  who  was  now  close  beside  Temple 
whispered  to  him  to  keep  on.  to  make  a  dash  for 
It,  as  they  were  now  clo«e  to  Washington's  house. 
Clearly  to  stop  meant  ruin.     They  rushed  on.     A 


FOILED 


191 


voice  rang  out,  "  Halt,  or  we  fire."  The  daring 
little  company  gave  no  reply,  and  then  the  night  was 
shaken  by  the  crash  of  fifty  muskets. 

A  number  of  Temple's  men  were  wounded  and 
many  of  the  horses,  but,  owing  to  the  intense  dark- 
ness, nothing  very  serious  happened.  Temple,  who 
had  long  before  got  his  little  army  into  fighting 
form,  ordered  them  to  fire  without  stopping.  They 
fired,  and  had  better  results  than  the  rebels,  for 
when  the  rebels  fired  they  had  shown  themselves  up 
clearly  to  their  foes  by  the  light  of  their  muskets. 
The  Englishmen  never  paused,  but  immediately 
they  had  fired  their  pieces  they  slung  them  over 
their  backs  or  into  their  holsters  and  drew  their 
swords.  In  a  moment  they  were  onto  the  waiting 
rebels.  They  too  were  mounted.  The  fight  that 
followed  in  the  dark  was  fierce  and  brief.  Each 
Englishman  knew  what  he  was  -apposed  to  do. 
He  was  to  act  individually:  to  break  through  the 
rebel  line  and  to  make  for  Wasiiington's  house  just 
beyond.  If  but  a  few  men  succeeded  in  getting 
through,  and  to  the  house,  they  would  have  a  chance 
of  seizing  Washington;  that  is,  if  he  was  there 
and  had  not  been  warned. 

Eor  the  first  few  minutes  the  fight  was  even.  The 
English  fought  with  more  fierceness  and  less  like 
machines  than  usual,  while  the  rebels  fought,  as 


192       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


ItJ 


"    ! 


always,  the  only  way  these  hardy   farmers  knew 
liow  to  fight,  with  all  their  heart.     Barnabas  man- 
aged to  keep  near  to  Temple  most  of  the  time  in 
order  to  be  ready,  when  his  chance  came,  to  slip 
away  with  him  and  in  sume  way  get  to  tiie  general's 
house.     A  couple  uf  times  an  opportunity  presented 
it.self  to  them,  and   Barnabas  tried  both   times   to 
yank  Temple  aside  out  of  the  fight ;   but  in  vain,  the 
i'jiglishman  was  so  engrossed  in  his  honest  fighting, 
and  in  his  sincere  attempt  to  drive  the  enemy  from 
the  field,  that  all  the  clever  schemes  of  Barnabas 
had  quite  slipped  from  his  mind.     The  traitor  cap- 
tain, as  was  customary  with  him.  quickly  lost  all 
patience,  and  was  about  to  leave  this  fool  English- 
man to  fight  and  win  his  honourable  victory  or  his 
honourable  defeat  when  suddenly  he  saw  Temple 
dash  forward  and  disappear  through  the  rebel  lines. 
Barnabas  grabbed  at  the  two  nearest  Englishmen 
and  ordered  them  to  follow  him,  shouting  that  their 
captam  had  gone  on  alone  ahead  of  them.     The 
soldiers  followed  unhesitatingly,  and  the  rebel  cap- 
tain led  the  way  by  the  same  opening  that  Temple 
had  gone  by. 

As  he  rounded  a  sharp  rise  in  the  ground  he  came 
abruptly  upon  a  horseman.  Barnabas  drew  up  his 
horse  with  a  jerk,  showing,  if  it  had  been  possible 
to  observe  him,  that  his  guilty  nerves  were  none  too 


FOILED 


19S 


steady.  But  perhaps  one  could  hardly  hlainc  thi> 
traitor  captain  for  being  afraid  in  this  terrible  risk 
that  he  was  running.     He  demanded, 

"Who's  tiiere?"  and  was  greatly  relieved  when 
he  recognized  Temj)le's  voice. 

"  D(jn't  be  afraid,  Bradford  ;  I'm  not  one  of  your 
men." 

.At  this  moment  the  two  English  troopers  came 
up  and  halted,  and  this  only  in  time,  for  Captain 
Temple  Iiad  jnst  decided  that  the  first  thing  to  be 
done,  now  that  the  opportunity  offered,  was  to 
punish  Bradford  for  ever  having  been  born ;  then 
after  that  he  could  take  Wasliington  with  an  easier 
mind.  But  the  presence  of  the  two  troopers  changed 
his  plans.     He  pointed  with  his  finger,  and  said, 

"  Look,  there  is  a  light.     Ls  he  there?  " 

The  black  shape  of  a  building,  a  little  darker  than 
the  night,  was  just  visible.  .\  faint  light  showed 
from  a  low,  corner  window  of  the  house. 

Barnabas  spurred  his  hor.se  forward. 

"  (Come  and  see,  if  you're  not  afraid,"  he  called 
back  to  Temple. 

The  three  Englishmen  followed  him. 

Halting  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  house  thev 
tied  their  horses  to  a  couple  of  trees  and  crept  for- 
ward to  the  window.  Barnabas  pressed  his  face 
against  the  glass  in  an  effort  to  see  into  the  room, 


194       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY    FORGE 


t'  i 


,     :  I 


m\ 


but  it  was  in  vain,  as  the  occupier  of  the  room  had 
taken  pains  to  hang  a  blanket  neatly  over  the  win- 
dow.    Presently  the  four  kidnappers  moved  stealth- 
ily around  the  end  of  the  house  to  the  little  door- 
way.     Here  again   Barnabas   went   ahead  of  the 
others  and  spied  out  the  land.    The  door  was  open, 
the  hallway  was  empty  and  tiobody  seemed  to  be 
around  at  this  moment.     A  light,  however,  came 
from  under  the  door  of  a  room  across  the  hall ;   the 
room  of  the  lighted  window.     The  rebel  captain  was 
very  suspicious  of  al!  this  silence,  and  the  open  door; 
he  expected  to  find  the  house  in  commotion  over  the 
event  of  a  night  attack.    He  crept  back  to  the  others 
and   reported   to  Temple   what   he   had   observed. 
Then  he  said, 

"  If  you  want  the  man.  Temple,  I  guess  he's  in 
♦hat  room.     If  you're  not  afraid  come  with  me." 

All  four  men  entered  the  narrow  hall  and  went 
cautiously  towards  the  closed  door  of  the  lighted 
room.  Barnabas,  more  crafty  than  the  others,  kept 
close  to  the  wall  so  that,  if  the  door  was  suddenly 
opened,  he  would  be  out  of  the  range  of  light.  And 
well  he  did.  The  kidnappers  had  almost  reached 
the  door  when,  without  any  warning,  it  was  thrown 
wide  open.  Every  man  froze  still  in  the  position  he 
happened  to  be.  and  stared  at  the  man  in  the  door- 
way.      It    was    David    Wharton.      Temple    was 


FOILED 


195 


crouched  like  a  stct-l  spriup;,  and  ready,  the  instant 
Wharton  should  spy  him,  to  sprinJ,^  But  owing  to 
the  dimness  of  the  hj,^ht  that  reached  the  hall,  and 
to  Wharton's  eyes  beinj,'  unused  to  the  gloom  after 
the  brightly  lighted  room,  the  English  captain  was 
not  at  first  discovered. 

David  called  out  as  he  left  the  room, 
*'  You  had  better  wait.     He'll  be  back  in  a  min- 
ute."    Then  he  walked  directly  at  Temple. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Suddenly,  when 
within  a  foot  or  two  of  the  men,  Wharton  stopped. 
He  peered  before  him  and  stejjped  a  little  aside 
to  let  the  light  fall  in  froi.  of  him;  and  at  this 
moment  Temple  sprang:  he  managed,  for  the  sec- 
ond that  the  light  fell  upon  him.  to  k  .p  his  face 
in  shadow  by  throwing  one  arm  across  it.  So  David 
did  not  imagine  for  a  moment  that  he  was  strug- 
gling with  his  friend  and  old  rival,  Captain  Temple. 
No  sooner  had  Temple  closed  with  Wharton  than 
the  other  two  Englishmen  jumped  from  their  con- 
cealment and  dashed  to  their  captain's  aid.  Barna- 
bas, however,  again  proved  himself  more  wise  and 
cunning  than  the  others  of  this  expedition.  He  lay 
quietly  where  he  was,  well  out  of  the  light,  and  well 
out  of  the  range  of  battle.  What  he  calculated  on 
to  happen  did  happen.  When  David  found  himself 
ser  on,  by  what  appeared  to  be  three  soldiers  of 


!l^ 


! 


it 


m 


Hr'^' 

l^^^lf' ' 

M'^ 

iii'i 

■h'' 

,',  1 

K'V.: 

!' 

196       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

Lee's  dragoon,  lie  called  for  help  loudly  to  some- 
one in  the  room.     And  immediately  help  came:   not 
in  the  form  of  Washington  himself,  hut  in  the  form 
of  two  y(.ung  soldiers   of  the   Continental   army. 
These  young  men  hesitated  for  a  moment,  puzzled 
to  know  who  was  fighting  who,  as  all  four  of  the 
men  wore  the  American  uniform.     Quickly,  how- 
ever,  they  saw  that   their  captain   was   struggling 
against  the  other  three  (and  they  noticed  with  cer- 
tain pride  that  he  was  pretty  nearly  holding  his  own. 
too),   and   they   sprang   into   the    fray.      Barnabas 
waited  no  longer.     Either  the  room  was  empty  or 
the  general-in-chief  was  there  by  himself,  and  now. 
if  ever,  was  his  chance.     As  to  how  he  was  to  kid- 
nap a  strong  m-n  single-Iianded  he  hadn't  quite  de- 
cided:    he  relied  on  the  inspiration  of  the  moment, 
or  if  that  failed,  tn  his  allies  getting  tiie  best  of  the 
fight,  and  coming  to  his  aid.     He  slipped  into  the 
room.     Everything  was  as  he  had  seen  it  often  be- 
fore, except  that  now  there  seemed  to  be  an  even 
greater  abundance  of  maps,   papers,  etc..   littering 
the  table,  the  fire  was  burning  brightly,  and  a  pen. 
stdl  glistening  witli  wet  ink.  lay  on  a  partlv  written 
sheet.     These  details  Barnabas  noticed  half  unc.n- 
sciously.  but  the  one  all-important  thing  was  that 
the  room  was  empty! 

As  this  traitor  sto,,,]  jn^t  within  the  room  of  the 


FOILED 


197 


master  whom  he  had  come  to  betray,  two  strong 
emotions  surged  through  him ;  one  was  a  feehng, 
deep  in  his  heart,  of  reHef ;  reHef  that  the  great 
man.  whom  he  feared  to  face,  was  not  there :  the 
otiier  was  the  grip  of  bitter  disappointment.  Here 
then  all  in  a  flash  he  saw  the  failure  (jf  his  cherished 
scheme.  These  two  mighty  emotions  tore  him  ir 
tlieir  struggle  for  mastery.  His  fear  and  dreading 
had  been  great,  as  it  is  bound  to  be  in  the  rogue 
who  is  tempted  to  do  a  really  daring  thing,  but  his 
avaricious  spirit  had  been  crying  out  for  the  rich 
reward  that  was  to  be  his  if  he  succeeded.  Of 
course,  it  was  this  spirit  which,  stronger  than  his 
fears,  had  driven  him  on.  For  a  moment  he  was 
tempted  to  rush  to  the  table  and  grab  up  any  prom- 
ising looking  document  within  reach,  but  the  risk 
he  was  running  was  too  great.  Here  he  was  stand- 
ing conspicuously  in  the  lighted  room.  He  was 
clad  in  his  rebel  uniform  to  be  sure,  and  if  he  were 
taken,  perhaps  his  clever  tongue  could  extricate  him. 
But  for  the  few  moments  that  he  stood  there  he 
listened  carefully  to  the  progress  of  the  fight.  By 
the  sound  that  came  from  the  narrow  hallway  he 
concluded  that  all  hands  were  well  engaged.  Then 
he  realized  that  the  battle  was  moving  away  towards 
the  hall  doov.  He  (piickly  blew  i/ut  the  two  candles, 
and  then  ran   from  the  room  into  the  hall.     The 


I 


l! 


I 


m 


198       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

doorway  was  now  filled  with  struggling  men  •    he 
thought  he  heard  voices  coming  out  of  the  dark 
beyond:    also  he  realized  at  that  moment  that  the 
tumult  of  the  battle,  a  short  distance  back  of  the 
house,  had  died  down.     Then  the  attackers   were 
bemg  dnven  off.  and  he  and  these  three  Englishmen 
alone  remained  of  the  attackers.      He  ran   to  the 
doorway,  sprang  lightly  onto  the  jumble  of  men 
was  grabbed  by  one  leg.  struggled  free,  and    half 
tumbling  and  half  climbirc^  got  out  of  the  house 
Voice-,  sounded  close  to  hun  now.  coming  from  be 
h.nd  the  building.     IJe  did  not  stop  to  help  Temple 
nor  to  warn  him.     He  had  nr,  time  to  spare  on  these 
n.ce  questions  of  honour.    At  such  times  as  the  pres- 
ent h,s  motto  was.  "  Every  man  for  himself     He 
made  h,s  way  to  where  he  had  tied  his  horse  as 
quickly  as  he  cou.Vl  possibly  go  in  the  dark.     Leap- 
'ng  mto  the  saddle,  he  galloped  down  towards  the 
nver.      He  kncNv  of  an   unfrequented,   rotmdabout 
way  that  would  bring  him  back  safely  to  Philadel- 
phia. 


■  i.  .1 

CHAPTER    XII 


IN  WHICH   THE  NEW   MAJOR  COMES  TO  GRIEF 


The  rest  of  the  winter  of  1778  passed  quietly  for 
those  enca-iiped  w  ith  W'ashinp^ton  at  X'alley  Forge, 
hi  F'hi!:i  -Iphia  the  q-aiety  continued  uninterrupted 
by  such  frivolous  tliinj^s  as  war.  Howe  entertained 
as  lavishly  as  ever,  and  wailed  with  all  his  grand 
army  for  the  famine  to  do  his  work  for  him  in  rout- 
in,-,'  the  rebels  from  N'alley  For^sfe.  But  that  was  not 
to  be.  General  Washington  was  again  proving  the 
power  of  his  genius  by  the  way  in  which  he  held 
his  discontented  army  together.  His  great  tact  had 
much  to  do  with  this.  To  every  man  he  gave  in 
turn  leave  of  absence,  sometimes  lasting  for  a  num- 
ber of  weeks.  This  eased  the  tension  like  magic. 
David  Wharton  got  his  leave  early  in  the  spring, 
while  Barnabas  Bradfi  rd  was  ofif  duty  and  living 
with  his  people  in  T'hiladelphia.  David  went  first 
to  Philadelphia,  even  before  going  home.  He  made 
but  a  short  visit,  though,  and  after  inviting  the  three 
Brad  fords  very  urgently  to  come  in  a  fev.'  days  to 

199 


1,(  s 


4:    i 


lUV 


200       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

call  on  them  all  at  the  farm  he  set  out  on  his  ride 
home. 

When  he  arrived  he  found  that  both  Asa  and  his 
father,   the    Reverend  01i\er,   were  off  duty  also: 
and    so   with    David's    home-coniing   the   scattered 
fanidy  v>as  again  cotni)lete.     Flow  sweet  it  was  es- 
pecially  to    diese    home-loving    farmers,    Asa   and 
David,  to  be  at  thei-  old  familiar  work  about  the 
farm.     And  there  was  much  to  be  done  now  that 
the  spring  was  upon  them:    acres   to  be  plowed; 
crops  to  be  sown;    fences  and  barns  to  be  repaired, 
and  .so  forth.     Asa  fell  back  to  his  old  customs  at 
once,  and  got  up  at  his  cu.^tomary  hour  and  did  the 
customary  things  at  the  customary  times.     David 
went  one  better;    he  jumped  out  of  bed  generally 
before  sunrise  and   was  afield  when  the  last,  pale 
stars  of  morning  were  fading  out.     Though  David 
was  such  a  practical  farmer  he  had  somewhat  of 
the  dreamer  in  him  too.  and.  even  though  he  had 
been  gone  from  home  for  but  a  matter  of  months, 
yet  as  he  walked  down  this  famih'ar  lane,  or  put  his 
hands  again  to  an  old  familiar  job.  he  would  pause 
while  a  flood  of  sweet  memories  crowded  upon  him  ; 
in  this  way.  some  people  wnuU  say,  he  lost  many 
valuable  moments.     Everything  about  the  house  was 
bright  and  ^niling,  though,  to  be  sure,  times  were 
hard.    The  only  thi-ig  that  cast  a  shadow  over  their 


THE   MAJOR  COMES  TO  GRIEF        201 

joy  in  tlie  Wharton  household  was  the  faiHng  health 
of  Ruth.  Do  what  they  could  in  directing  her  ex- 
ercise most  carefully,  making  her  sleep  much,  and 
eat  plenty  of  butter  and  eggs,  and  drink  rich  milk, 
yet  Ruth  day  by  day  showed  clearer  signs  of  weak- 
ening. When  finally  David  weni  in  search  of  a  doc- 
tor and  brought  him  out  to  the  farm,  and  the  doctor 
pronounced  her  condition  to  be  .serious,  the  whole 
house  was  cast  into  gloom.  If  she  did  not  go 
South  for  the  long,  wet  spring,  the  doctor  said,  she 
would  probably  not  li\e  a  year.  When  David  was 
at  work  he  pondered  much  on  this.  How  was  Ruth 
to  be  sent  South  when  there  was  no  money  coming 
in,  and  the  poor,  neglected  farm  was  hardly  able  to 
keep  tho.se  living  on  it  in  food  and  clothing? 
Finally  he  decided  on  what  he  must  do.  John  Brad- 
ford had  money,  and  if  there  was  any  way  of  get- 
ting some  of  it  away  from  him  he  would  get  it. 
It  was  a  question  of  Ruth's  life,  and  the  purse  of 
his  Tory  friend  seemed  the  only  thing  that  could 
save  it. 

About  four  days  after  David  had  arrived  home  a 
great  coach  drove  up  to  the  house.  All  the  men, 
even  the  Reverend  Oliver  himself,  were  out  in  the 
fields,  and  so  Ruth  and  her  mother  ran  out  to  wel- 
come the  arrivals,  whoever  they  proved  to  be.  The 
door  of  the  coach  flew  open,  and  out  jumped  George 


202 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


w 


i;J 


ii.i 


Temple,  lately  promoted  to  the  rank  of  Major. 
Temple  hastily  saluted  Mrs.  Wharton  and  Ruth, 
and  then  turned  and  aided  John  Bradford  and  Anne 
to  descend.  This  visit  was  unexpected  for,  as 
much  as  the  Whartons  hoped  they  wcnild  come,  still 
they  did  not  think  that  John  would  risk  pokinj^  his 
nose  outside  the  protection  of  the  King's  army.  But 
owing  to  John's  having  lately  bought  a  new  coach 
he  felt  secure  from  recognition  as  he  passed  along 
the  highway  and  through  the  village.  After  an 
exchange  of  greetings  with  the  mother  and  daugh- 
ter Mr.  Bradford  turned  prcnully  to  his  great  ptjs- 
ses.sion.  and  pointed  out  its  beauties,  and  told  con- 
fidently of  its  great  cost.  When  the  others  finally 
turned  to  enter  the  house,  the  rich  man  insisted  on 
accompanying  his  new  coach  to  the  barn  to  see  that 
it  was  safely  hou'^ed.  A  few  minutes  later  he  came 
back  to  the  house  in  the  company  of  David.  The 
Whr.rton  boy,  for  so  John  always  referred  to  him, 
was  talking  somewhat  faster  than  he  could  think, 
and  consecjuently  was  talking  a  great  deal  of  non- 
sense. But  only  John  was  capable  of  judging  poor 
David  for  this.  He  did  not  understand  how  the 
boy's  heart  was  all  out  of  his  control,  and  was 
simply  bursting  for  joy  at  .Anne's  sudden  presence. 
John  could  understand  now  only  the  joy  that  monev 
gave,  a  cold,  dead  emotion.     And  so  during  that 


THE   MAJOR  COMES  TO  GRIEF        203 

short  walk  to  the  house  John  wondered  more  and 
more  in  his  heart  how  liis  Anne  could  ever  have  be- 
come infatuated,  as  he  suspected  her  of  being,  witii 
such  a  stupid  y<nith :  he  decided  all  over  again  that 
Major  Temj)le  was  for  Anne. 

When  they  entered  the  house  there  were  all  hands 
at  work  and  at  play  in  the  big  kitchen:    Anne  was 
assisting  Ruth  with  the  cunking.  while  Temple  as- 
sisted Mrs.    Uliarton  in  carrying  things  from  the 
kitchen  to  where  the  table  was  being  set  in  the  din- 
ing-parlour.     David  greeted  Anne  very  quietly,  and 
politely,  and  he  shook  hands  warmly  with  Temple. 
He  liked  Temple  and  greatly  i)itied  him.     He  was 
embarrassed  at  meeting  him  though  and  he  won- 
dered why  he  still  kept  so  close  to  the  Rradfords. 
David    never    suspected    that    the    strong,    young 
rebel  officer  with  whom  he  had  ftntght  so  desper- 
ately that  night   in   Washington's  house,   was  the 
frank  and  courteous  Engli.shman  (>cfore  him.     That 
night  Temple  had  barely  escaped  capture.     David 
had   succeeded    in   holding  him   until   the   soldiers, 
which    I3arnabas   had   heard    coming,    were   almost 
upon  their..     Only  after  he  had  partly  stunned  his 
"Pponent  with  a  blou-  of  his  fist,  had  Temple  man- 
i'i^ed  to  break  away.   Xow.  in  the  presence  of  David, 
;in  this  stood  out  vividly  in  his  mind.     He  could 
not  quite  bring  himself  to  look  David  straight  in 


204       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


:^ 


i\ 


^  r- 


Hi 


fP 


iii 


the  eyes,  for  he  feh  tliat  the  other  must  read  his 
secret  in  his  face.    So,  ahnost  witliout  their  noticing 
it,  the  relation  between  David  and  his  old   friend 
became  delicate  and  strained.      The   Englishman's 
continued  attentions  to  Anne,  now  when  he  well 
knew   how   things  stood   l^etween   her  and   David, 
seemed  to  the  honest  .American  insulting,  as  though 
the  mere  fact  that  .\ime  had  accepted  him  counted 
for  nought.     David  was  not  a  god,  and  many  little 
things  in  connection  with  Tenii)lc,  who  was  thought- 
less and  headstrong,  worked  more  and  more  on  his 
nerves.     But  the  Englishman  was  quite  oblivious  ':o 
this :   in  fact  he  was  oblivious  to  everything  but  his 
lost  Anne.     And  so  the  few  precious  days  slid  by 
in  the  big,  comfortable  farm-house  far  from  Valley 
Forge.     Everyone  was  counting  on  at  least  another 
week  of  this  joyous  home  life  when  an  old  disturb- 
ing factor  reappeared  and  shattered  ihei/  plans  and 
dreams.    They  were  all  sitting  around  the  great  oak 
dinner-table  one  evening,   after  they  had   finished 
their  meal,  smoking  and  talking  of  little  incidents 
of  the  war,  when  a  most  authoritative  knocking 
sounded  upon  the  front  door.     A  sudden  chill  went 
through   everybody,  as   though   they  had  heard   a 
spirit  asking  for  entrance.     They  all  realized  that 
at  such  times  as  these  "  no  news  was  good  news," 
and  that  if  anyone  came  to  the  house  there  were 


THE  AL\JOR  COMES  TO  GRIEF       205 


nine  chances  out  of  ten  that  their  mission  was  not 
one  of  joy.  X(nv  that  the  spring  had  come  the 
inuvements  of  arniies  might  lie  sudden  and  frequent. 

The  Reverend  Ohver  rose  from  the  table  hastily 
and  went  to  the  door.  He  flung  it  wide  open  and 
stood  aside,  bidding  the  newcomer  at  the  same  time 
to  enter.  A  tall  man  stepped  into  the  hall,  bowed 
and  extended  his  hand. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Wharton.  You  don't  know 
me  in  these  clothes.  You've  never  seen  Barnabas 
Bradford  in  his  Continental  uniform?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  recognize  you.  Captain  Bradford," 
returned  the  Reverend  Oliver  with  a  cheerful, 
hearty  voice.  "  But  I'm  happy  to  see  you  have 
joined  a  good  cause.     Come  into  the  room  there." 

Barnabas  looked  down  the  long  hallway  aiid 
could  see  half  of  the  diners  leaning  back  in  their 
■hairs  at  the  table.  A  wistful  smile  anpeared  on  his 
face,  and  he  brushed  his  long  fingers  meditatively 
through  his  black  hair. 

"  I'm  Major  Bradford  now,"  he  said  slowly  and 
simply.     "  Who's  in  tliere  ?  " 

"  Oh!  congratulations,  major.  You've  beaten  me 
out:  ha!  ha!  I  suppose  a  chaplain  lias  no  chance. 
Rut  come  in ;  come  in.  You  know  everybody  \ 
guess :   just  your  people  and  Major  Temple." 

Barnabas  frowned  darklv. 


"  I 


I  J 


«06   A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

"  I  duhrt  know  he  was  here,"  lie  said  as  he  fol- 
lowed OHver  into  the  room.  . 

Everybody  at  least  appeared  to  be  glad  to  see 
Barnabas  Bradford  come  in.  The  men  rose,  and 
Asa  and  David  extemled  welcoming  hands  to  him. 
Temple  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  loosening  his 
tight  collar  and  did  not  extend  his  hand.  Barnabas 
bowed  low  to  the  ladies. 

The  Reverend  Oliver  entered  the  room.  carr>-ing 
a  chair  which  he  put  at  the  table  for  the  new  guest; 
then,  turning  to  the  major,  he  put  his  hand  upon 
his  shoulder  and  explained  to  the  others  how  Barna- 
bas had  been  given  the  high  and  responsible  posi- 
tion of  major  in  the  Continental  army  for  his  es- 
timable and  loyal  service  to  the  great  cause.    Every- 
one looked  terribly  impressed  by  these  words  and 
most  of  all  father  John  himself,  who  knew  it  all 
along.     The   new   major   bowed   low   and   seemed 
very  humble  about  it  all.  but  David  noticed  an  un- 
mistakable look  of  triumph  light  his  face  as  Barna- 
bas glanced  at  Temple.    The  Englishman  paled  al- 
most imperceptibly. 

The  new  major  sat  down  and  talked  very  nicely ; 
and  all  were  quite  proud  of  the  reformed  youth. 
That  the  reform  was  but  skin-deep  Temple  saw,  and 

David  saw,  but  the  others  dutifully  looked  at  that 

side  only  that  Barnabas  chose  to  present  to  them. 


I?  i    1 


■.,(.;■ 


■Mi 


THE   MAJOR  (OMES  TO  GRIEF        207 

The  good  pcoi)lc  did  not  read  the  strange  expres- 
sion tliat  came  into  his  face  every  now  and  then  as 
he  talked,   and   at   first   they   did   not   reaUze   that 
r.arnabas  turned  his  attention  more  and  mure  to 
Temple.     But  they  were  destined  to  see  and  under- 
stand more  of  tlie  loyal  major's  nature  later  in  the 
evening.     The  more  rum  the  reformed  man  si])ped 
the  more  speedily  the  sheei)'s  skin  slipped  from  his 
shoulders.     Temple  held  his  peace  admirably,  but 
he  had  partaken  of  good  Jamie's  rum  also,  and  was 
feeling  very  fine.     David  watched  them  with  inter- 
est,   for  he   saw  clearly   what   was   coming;    and, 
thought  he,  it's  just  as  well  for  Barnabas  to  show 
out  in  his  true  light,  and  for  one  or  die  other  of 
them,  he  didn't  care  which,  to  get  a  good  licking. 
The  black  cloud  that  the  little  rain-drt)ps  of  words 
had  been  heralding  burst  sucUlenly.     This  is  how. 
Barnabas  at  last  had   succeeded   in  getting  full 
control  of  the  conversation.     His  ran  along  even 
more  freely  and  his  choice  of  topics  became  ever 
more  risky;    till  finally,  and  T^avid  breathed  a  sigh 
of  relief,  it  was  the  old.  bad  penny,  showing  up  in 
its  true  colours.     Helping  himself  with  a  fine  show 
of  good  manners  to  rum.  r.arnabas  introduced   a 
subject  for  conversation  which  even  he.  in  his  saner 
moments,  had  not  dared  to  broach. 

"  Parson."  he  said,  turning  his  hard,  crafty  look- 


208 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


i 


IJ;   :li 


iug  face  to  the  Reverend  Oliver,  "  tell  ine,  what  do 
you  think  of  the  Kinj,''s  soldiers  who  would  come 
like  dirty  thicxc-  in  the  inLriit,  dressed  in  their 
enemy's  unilornis,  t«»  Nlcal  away  their  jL,'eneral  ?  " 

"Tut,  tut,  major."  n-|ilieil  Oliver.  "  nuuiv 
strange  things  are  done  in  war.  But  we  won't 
discuss  that  now." 

The  major  hrought  his  fist  down  with  very  cred- 
itable force  upon  the  table.  "  X'ow's  the  time,  and 
now's  the  hour,"  cried  he.  "  And.  Parson,  it  -.K-as 
a  sneak's  job.  and  every  F^nglishman  that  took  part 
in  it  was  a  damned  >neak." 

Barnabas  looked  around  defiantly,  especially  in 
the  direction  where  Temple  sat  with  his  head 
slightly  bowed  and  his  face  set  and  stern.  A  pause 
followed.  John  Bradford  made  two  or  three  at- 
tempts to  speak,  but  his  indignation  was  so  jr  . 
that  his  words  would  not  come;  and  perhaps  it  was 
just  as  well.  Asa  sat  quietly  as  he  had  been  sitting 
all  evening,  his  thin,  seasoned  face  unm(j\ed.  The 
women  looked  startled  at  this  sudden  outbreak ;  but 
Anne  was  far  move  atTected  than  the  others,  and  she 
had  reason  to  be.  He-  terrible  secret  was  his;  she 
had  been  one  of  his  accomplices.  The  horror  of  it 
swept  over  her  with  new  force.  Any  moment  he 
might  reveal  it  all  to  David :  he  was  sure  to  some 
day.     He  had  already  threatened  to  do  it  twice,  and 


THE   MAJOR  COMES  TO  GRIEF        209 


I 


tilt'  only  reason  why  he  had  not  \.as  that,  for  the 
tnoment,  it  would  be  inconvenient  f(jr  liiniself  to 
have  it  known.  Anne  decided  to  tell  David  every- 
tliiiij,'  the  first  chance  she  found. 

David  seemed  to  feel  tiiat  it  was  his  place  to  call 
down  the  disturlxT  of  the  peace.  He  tapped  his 
finjjers  on  tlie  table  and  leaned  far  over  towards 
tlie  ofTenfler. 

"  See  here,  Rarnabas.  anything  you've  got  to  say 
aq-ainst  the  Eiiglisli.  keep  it  until  you  get  outside. 
Riglit  here  in  this  house  there's  going  to  be  none 
of  that  talk."  When  David  was  very  earnest  about 
what  he  was  saying  he  raised  his  eyebrows  very 
liigh  and  stared  hard  at  the  person  he  was  talking 
to. 

"  Ha,  ha!  Davy,  my  man,"  replied  Barnabas  in 
a  sneering  voice.  "  One  can  never  tell  what  side 
you'll  be  on  next.  But  tiiere  r.re  others  lik-^  you: 
there's  my  little  sister  for  instance,  she  swore  she 
was  on  the  side  of  tlie  damned  English,  but  I'll 
swear  to  God  she  helped  the  rebels  once." 

Barnabas  had  struck  a  true  blow  at  last,  and  the 
result  was  all  that  he  could  have  expected.  Up 
jumped  both  David  and  Temple :  but  Temple  won 
out.  Whereas  David  started  to  speak  from  where 
he  was  standing,  and  to  order  Barnabas  to  silence, 
the  Englisliman,  who  had  been  nursing  his  wrath  in 


210        A  SOLDIER   OF  VALLEY   FORGE 


\i 


f   ! 


P  1    f 


H  ' 


liji. 


silence,  left  his  jilace  and  went  over  to  where  the 
insulter  sat.  As  David  did  not  know  of  Anne's  part 
in  tlic  ])li)t  to  take  \\'ashine;-ton  he  did  not  see  how 
badly  her  half-l)n»ther  was  striking  her;  hut  Tem- 
ple knew  :  and  liesides.  he  himself  had  been  insulted 
sufficiently  to  give  him  excuse  to  do  what  he  in- 
tended to  do.  He  tapped  Barnabas  on  the  shoulder 
and  said,  "  If  you  think  we  l-'nglish  are  damned, 
come  and  prove  it." 

"  Certainly  I  will."  cried  Barnabas,  springing  up 
from  the  table,  and  instincti\ely  gripping  the  hilt 
of  his  sword.  But  here  both  .Asa  and  Oliver  inter- 
fered. They  both  said  very  determinedly  that  there 
would  be  no  fighting  near  this  house.  Also  they 
tried  to  reason  w  ith  them,  and  to  point  out  the  child- 
ishness and  insanity  of  their  trying  to  kill  one  an- 
other because  their  vanity  had  been  abused.  But 
the  two  W'hartons  sewn  saw  the  futility  of  reason- 
ing. The  Englishman  had  just  been  insulted,  and 
they  coiddn't  reason  him  out  of  that,  and  he  in- 
tended to  fight :  the  .\nierican  had  been  struck 
many  months  before  by  that  Englishman,  and  he 
intended  to  fight.  .\t  fir^t  Oliver  said  he  would 
wash  his  hanrls  of  it  all,  but  finally  his  sense  of  fair 
play  d<Mninated  his  doubts  and  he  decided  that  the 
only  right  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  see  the  duel 
fought   fairly.      There  was  no  putting  it  off  until 


iii  I 


M  [ 


JtSft      .-* 


THE    MAJOR  COMES  TO   GRIEF        211 


tlic  next  day  either;  it  must  be  fought  now,  light 
t>r  (I'.rk. 

Ten  minutes  later  i  ii  if  l-ttle  group  of  men 
wound  their  way  aero  ;  th.e  fielils  <lo-.vn  to  the  apple 
orchard.  The  sky  wa;  c  y  clear,  a- id  luckily  it  was 
one  of  those  nights  when  the  muts  seem  to  lighten 
the  world  quite  amply  all  by  themselves,  for  there 
was  no  moon. 

Oliver  and  David,  who  had  decided  to  act  as 
seconds,  chose  a  space  of  even  ground  where,  owing 
to  the  trees  being  farther  ipart.  there  was  a  little 
more  light,  that  is,  as  light  went  that  night. 

The  two  combatants  lost  no  time  in  stripping 
to  the  waist,  then,  is  there  was  im  advantage  to 
be  got  by  position,  they  took  the  places  pointed  out 
to  them  by  their  seconds.  At  a  word  from  Oliver 
they  saluted  each  other  and  crossed  swords.  It  was 
a  lucky  thing  for  Barnabas  that  it  was  very  dark, 
for  he  was  hopelessly  outclassed :  the  darkness, 
however,  so  handicapped  all  the  neat  work  of  the 
Englishman  that  for  a  time  the  figlit  went  quite 
evenly.  Temple  had  received  the  careful  instruc- 
tion that  an  enthusiastic  officer  of  the  English  army 
would  be  apt  to  receive;  as  for  Barnabas  what  little 
of  the  art  of  duelling  he  knew  he  had  picked  up  in 
strange  places.  Rut  instinct  was  a  good  friend  to 
Barnabas,  and  so  he  fought  well,  so  to  speak,  in- 


H 


>i'ri 


i 


fi 


(.    ' , 


p 


,11 1:-     I 


•  If.  ji 


212       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

stinctivcly.  He  gave  Temple  no  time  to  attack  and 
so  get  the  advantage  of  liis  skill.  He  thrust  and 
thrust  with  such  amazing  swiftness  that  the  Eng- 
lishman found  no  time  to  do  more  than  protect  him- 
self. David  watched  this  duel  with  keen  interest. 
He  had  often  read  of  duels  and  had  often  imagined 
himself  fighting  one.  T'or  a  time  it  was  his  highest 
amhition,  his  most  valued  ideal.  To  be  matching 
skill  with  skill  and  death  for  the  loser,  had  seemed 
to  him.  wlicn  a  small  hoy,  something  beyond  ordi- 
nary mortals.  .\ny  famous  derelict  that  he  read 
about  seemed  to  him  a  god.  But  now.  grown  up, 
he  watched  these  two  with  very  different  feelings. 
They  looked  unreal  and  fairy-like  to  him.  it  is  true, 
but  that  was  on  account  of  the  strange"  faint  light. 
Only  the  upper,  naked  part^  of  their  bodies  showed 
at  all  clearly;  their  sworci>  now  and  then  gleamed 
palely,  but  oflm  they  too  were  invisible,  and  that 
gave  the  effect  of  two  spirits  stri^-ing  to  deal  death 
to  one  another  by  some  invisible  powers  of  magic. 
Their  fjuick  stepping  to  and  fro,  their  hard  breath- 
ing, and  the  sharp  thin  click  of  the  blades,  sounded 
strangely  clear,  and  added  to  the  ghostly  effect. 

They  had  been  fighting  six  or  seven  minutes  be- 
fore Tem])le  got  the  opening  for  which  he  had  been 
looking.  Barnabas  made  a  vicious  thrust  at  Tem- 
ple's chest:   the  force  of  his  stroke  carried  him  for- 


THE   xMAJOR  COMES  TO  GRIEF        ns 


ward  a  little  too  far,  and  when  the  Englishman 
whipped  the  blade  aside  with  all  his  strength  Barna- 
bas was  unable  U)  recover  his  balance  on  the  instant. 
That  one  first  mistake  ended  the  fight.  With  his 
opponent's  body  unguarded  Temple  picked  his  spot 
and  thrust  true,  running  the  sword  through  the  mus- 
cles of  the  right  shoulder.  At  the  sudden  pain 
t^.arnabas  hissed  through  his  clenched  teeth ;  his 
sword  dropped,  he  tottered,  then  quietly  sat  down 
ui)on  the  grass.  Oliver  ran  to  the  wounded  man's 
assistance,  while  Da\id  walked  off  a  short  distance 
witli  Temple,  and  conversed  with  him  in  low  tones, 
while  the  latter  slowly  and  thoughtfully  put  on  his 
clcjthes. 

"  Lucky  thing  I  didn't  land  him  a  little  lower 
d(nvn,  hey,  Wharton?"  said  Temple. 

"  You  didn't  try  to,"  David  replied  with  convic- 
tion.    "  You  could  have,  if  you  had  tried  to." 

Temple  drew  his  coat  on  as  though  he  himself 
were  the  wounded  one.  "  Maybe  I  could  have,"  he 
got  out  at  last  in  that  special  tone  that  meant,  "  Of 
course  I  could  have." 

David  had  never  seen  his  English  friend  in  this 
very  constrained  mood  before,  and  he  wondered  if 
it  arose  from  pride  over  his  neat  little  victory. 
But  afterwards  when  he  came  to  know  Temple 
better  he  knew-  that  it  was  not  so ;   that  this  mood 


i;  'I 


ill 


ft 


1 4m 


11' 


/ 


I ,. 


I 


I 


;)i 


it 


i 


h 


214       A   SOLDIER  OF   VALLEY   FORCiE 

came  over  him  whenever  he  was  doing  anything  »i 
# great  importance.  It  was  the  resuk  of  a  self-con- 
scious seriousness. 

Presently  Oliver  called  David  over  to  help  him 
with  Barnahas,  and  together  they  bound  his 
wounded  shoulder  with  broad  strips  torn  from  his 
shirt.  These  bandages  at  least  hindered  the  flow 
of  blood.  Then  they  buttoned  his  coat  very  care- 
fully around  him.  bellied  him  to  his  feet,  and  staited 
ofif  at  a  snail's  pace  towards  the  liouse. 

They  had  not  gone  far  liefore  Temple  overtook 
them  and  offered,  with  the  best  of  intentions,  to  give 
a  helping  hand.  But  Barnabas  wasn't  feeling  quite 
friendly  enough  towards  his  opponent  to  permit 
that.  He  turned  on  Temple,  muttering  something 
which  nobody  coidd  understand,  but  which  sounded 
more  like  a  deep  growl  than  anything  else.  The 
humble  victor  instantly  fell  out  of  the  line  of  march 
and  took  up  his  position  about  ten  paces  ix^hind  the 
others.  This  outbreak  on  the  part  of  Barnabas  took 
David  by  surprise.  It  disgusted  him.  He  was  be- 
ginning at  last  to  admire  this  man  for  what  he 
thought  must  be  his  only  virtue;  but  as  that  one 
virtue  was  pluck  David  felt  he  could  forgive  him 
for  his  many  weaknesses.  Since  David  had  been 
near  him  Barnabas  had  not  spoken  a  word  nor  let 
escape  even  a  groan,  but  that  he  was  suffering  one 


nc\ 


Mh 


h 


THE   MA.IOU   COMES  TO  GRIEF        216 


could  see  plainly.     This  then,  underneath  his  ugly 
surface,  thought  David,  was  a  man ;  perhaps  yet  he 
would  learn  the  a  b  c  of  life  and  be  honest.     But  his 
hopes   were  shattered   when   Barnabas  growled  so 
viciously  at   Temple,  and  during  the  walk  to  th 
house  the  wounded  man  swore  at  every  jolt,  and  he 
swore  at  his  supporters  if  either  of  them  hindered 
him  a  little  or  pressed  him  forward.     Soon,  as  a  last 
resort,  he  began  to  mumble  about  revenge  and  to 
groan  long  painful  groans.     .\s  they  came  within 
sight  oi  the  house  the  frr)nt  door  f>pened,  and  three 
or  four  people  stared  out  into  the  dark  and  listened. 
Then  they  saw  old  Asa  push  his  way  out  and  come 
down  along  the  path  towards  them  at  a  quick  nerv- 
ous pace.     As  soon  as  he  spied  the  little  group  ap- 
proaching  he   stopped   still   and   waited    for  them, 
and  when  they  came  up  to  him  Barnabas  was  growl- 
ing and  swearing  as  hard  as  ever.     That  told  the 
whole  story.     Asa  asked  no  ijuestions.     He  waited 
until  Temple  came  up  to  him  and  returned  to  the 
house  in  his  more  quiet  company.     They  walked 
very  slowly,  as  Temple  was  explaining  evcrj  detail 
of  the  fight,  and  just  how  it  happened  that  he  got 
in  his  last  stroke.     Conserjuently  they  reached  the 
house   quite   a   bit   after   the   others.      When   they 
npcned  the  front  door  there  was  all  the  household 
assembled  in  the  hall.     Barnabas  was  just  disap- 


M 


•\l 


k 


i 


'  ! 


I 


i) 


lli'^' 


216       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

pearing  up-stairs  aided  by  the  faithful  Olivt-r. 
John,  his  father,  was  stationed  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  just  finishing  an  evidently  warm  oration. 
Barnabas  punctuated  his  How  of  words  every  now 
and  then  with,  "  I'll  have  him  yet,"  evidently  re- 
ferring to  Temple. 

John  slapped  his  huge  right  hand  on  the  bannister 
post  to  lend  emphasis  to  his  words. 

"  And  then  it  comes  to  this.  You  profess  to  be 
a  loyal  soldier  to  Washington  and  you  come  here 
and  figl't  in  the  back-yard  on  account  of  some  vain 
words,  instead  of  giving  the  message  that  you  came 
with.  Fie!  on  all  you  young  numbskulls,  for  you 
are  worth  nothing."  He  turned  around  and 
started  to  stride  his  way  into  the  dining-room,  where 
Temple  and  Asa  entered.  John  glared  at  the  Eng- 
lishman as  he  passed  him  but  said  nothing.  No- 
body said  anything.  Temple  was  on  the  point  of 
speaking  several  times  but  never  did.  The  silence 
was  becoming  very  awkward  when  .\sa  demanded, 

"  Why  do  we  all  stand  here?  Nothing  has  hap- 
pened. He'll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  so.  You  all 
had  better  come  into  the  study  and  play  at  some 
games." 


ill, 


m 


r  i.i 


m 


:|     I    A 


CHAPTER    XIII 


OFF    TO    WAR 

Everything  was  very  peaceful  in  the  household 
after  this  night,  and  the  Bradfurds  and  Whartons 
lived  together  in  perfect  harmony  Major  Temple, 
of  course,  was  not  there.  He  had  left  for  Phila- 
delphia the  next  morning.  Barnahas  was  the  cul- 
prit, but  as  he  expressed  no  notion  of  budging  for 
awhile,  and  as  nobody  saw  their  way  quite  clear 
tor  giving  him  die  hint,  it  was  for  Temple  to  bear 
the  weak  man's  load,  and  this  load  was  a  heavy  one 
for  him.  Barnabas  decided  to  rest  in  the  luxury 
of  a  bed  for  three  days  and  let  \nne  and  Ruth  wait 
upon  him.  This  was  a  relief  to  everybody  as  all 
felt  that  it  was  better  for  him  to  be  out  of  sight 
and  sound  just  as  much  as  possible. 

The  new  adjustments  in  the  household  were  very 
pleasant  to  David.  He  oftened  managed  to  be  busy 
about  the  house  where  Anne  and  Ruth  were  em- 
ploying themselves,  and  at  these  times  Ruth  always 
did  what  he  hoped  she  would  do :    she  discovered 

217 


m 


p. 


Jli! 


218       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


1 


?h 


i4'.:    : 


i 


ml 


•I  ■ 


1 1 


:^ 


that  there  was  other  and  more  important  work  for 
her  to  do  in  another  part  of  the  liouse.  But  this 
state  of  affairs  was  too  good  to  last.  John,  who  was 
growing  more  and  more  determined  that  his  daugh- 
ter should  marry  a  man  of  means,  soon  suspected 
what  was  up.  He  inanaged  as  cle\  erly  as  any  young 
person  could  manage,  and  often,  in  fact  nearly  al- 
ways, he  happened  to  have  something  to  do  himself 
in  the  kitchen  after  Ruth  had  left.  Then  a  new 
trouble  arose  when  Barnabas  betook  his  wounded 
self  out  of  bed.  He  was  always  about  the  house  and 
always  warning  to  know  where  David  was,  if  he 
happered  to  lose  sight  of  him  for  a  moment.  Anne 
was  supposed  not  to  talk  when  br(jther  Barnabas 
was  talking,  and  so  the  conversation  ran  on  topics 
of  war,  while  Anne  bent  her  attention  to  the  peel- 
ing of  i)()tatoes,  etc.  David  always  tried  to  be  polite 
to  Barnabas  and  show  an  interest  in  war  while  love 
waited  on  the  threshoUl.  It  was  the  second  day 
after  the  major  had  been  up  and  about  tliat  he  spoke 
to  David  of  his  mission.  He  had  not  cotne  to  this 
house  on  a  picnic  tior  even  to  see  his  fi  lend.  Captain 
Wharton,  but  he  ha<l  been  sent  out  by  Washington 
to  warn  every  man  then  out  on  leave  in  this  vicinity 
to  report  at  \^alley  Forge  within  the  week.  He 
had  not  thought,  he  added  in  a  careless  way.  in 
answer  to  David's  in(]uiry,  to  speak  of  it  before; 


OFF  TO  WAR 


219 


besides,  he  added,  how  could  lie  when  he  was  lying 
there  in  pain?  and  as  fur  his  having  let  the  duel 
interfere  with  bis  duty,  he  said  that  afifairs  of  hon- 
our were  of  first  importance.  He  hastened  to  ex- 
plain that  to  be  in  Valley  Forge  within  the  week 
of  his  leaving  meant  that  they  would  have  to  start 
next  day. 

"  And  what  about  notifying  the  other  men  on  the 
farms  about  here?"  demanded  David  impatiently. 

"  Oh !  I  saw  about  all  that  as  I  came  through  the 
village  on  my  way  here.  I  ordered  horsemen  to  be 
sent  out  in  all  directions."  Major  Bradford  said 
this  with  a  majestic  wave  of  his  hand,  and  he 
showed  plainly  that  he  was  awaro  that  he  was  a 
major  talking  to  a  captain.  Thi.-,  attitude  of  pride. 
so  new  in  Barnabas,  rather  amused  David  than  an- 
gered him;    it  was  naive. 

"  Well,  theii,  to-morrow  we  go  if  that's  his  or- 
ders," he  said  resignedly.  He  arose  from  his  bench 
and  left  the  kitchen.  There  was  something  more 
important  than  being  wuh  .-\nne  and  that  was  to 
sec  Mr.  Bradford  without  delay  and  try  to  borrow 
the  money  for  Ruth's  trip  South.  If  he  must  leave 
for  Valley  Forge  the  nexi  day,  he  must  lose  no  time 
m  making  arrangements  for  her  to  setting  ofif  im- 
mediately. 

He  found  John  in  front  of  the  house,  passing  up 


1- 
•f1 


lU 


no       A  SOLDIER  OP^  VALLEY  FORGE 


U,^ 


i.    I 


•  if   il' 


Mi; 

4    I 


1 


and  clown  on  the  broad  walk.  His  hands  were 
locked  behind  his  back,  and  his  shoulders  were 
stooped  and  his  head  was  bent  down.  He  walked 
like  a  machini?,  keepinj::^  the  exact  pace,  turning  at 
precisely  the  same  place  each  tin^e  and  seemed  to 
be  treading  in  the  old  footmarks.  David  waited  at 
one  end  of  the  path  until  Mr.  Bradford  came  up  to 
him. 

When  he  saw  David  standing  there  his  manner 
changed.  He  seemed  t(j  know  in  advance  that  the 
young  man  was  going  to  ask  a  favour  of  him.  He 
seemed  to  be  thinking  out  what  he  should  say  even 
before  he  could  have  known  what  David  had  come 
to  talk  about. 

"  Mr.  Bradford,"  began  David,  a  little  troubled 
and  embarrassed,  "  I've  been  intending  to  ask  your 
advice  —  or,  at  least,  to  —  to  talk  to  yo-  alxjut  my 
sister.  Ruth,  you  know,  is  not  strong.  The  doctor 
says  she  must  go  South  right  off  and  escape  this 
spring  weather.  I  was  speaking  to  Barnabas  about 
it  yesterday.     Well  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes.  Davy,  yes,  yes,"  said  John,  rubbing 
his  thumb  and  forefinger  together  as  though  he  were 
sifting  powder  between  them.  "  Let  me  see.  Ruth 
is  not  strong  and  you  want  to  borrow  a  little  some- 
thing in  order  that  she  might  travel  South.  Hum! 
Yes." 


OFF  TO  WAR 


2?1 


David  lrK)ke(l  at  liini  iti  surprise.  He  liad  been 
just  alidut  t(i  nieiition  the  bdrmwi.ig,  but  he  bad 
bicu  <Inin.ij  before  tliat  what  he  considered  a  very 
essential  thiiij,'-,  namely,  workinsj^  up  to  it.  The 
father  and  son  had  Ix^en  talkinj^  it  over,  and  Barna- 
bas had  very  likely  given  his  father  some  of  his  own 
good  advice. 

"  Yes,  that's  just  it,"  David  continued.  "  She 
III  Its  t  travel  South,  and  you  know  the  old  farm 
liasii't  been  paying  as  it  used  to;  in  fact  we  haven't 
a  thing  laid  up  for  a  rainv  day,  and  — ■  " 

"  Come  along  into  the  study  where  we  can  talk 
this  little  business  over  quietly,"  broke  in  John, 
turning  towards  the  front  door. 

David  followed  him  into  the  study,  wondering 
very  much  what  was  coming.  In  some  \ague  way 
Mr.  Bradford's  manner  troubled  him.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  be  met  with  strict  inquiries  and  then  given 
vague  answers  and  a  promise;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
Mr.  Bradford  seemed  to  be  taking  his  request  as  a 
business  proposition.  After  he  had  settled  himself 
quite  comfortably  into  a  big  chair  he  spoke. 

"  You  say  the  farm  doesn't  pay.  Why  don't  you 
sell  it  ?  " 

"  It's  already  covered  with  debts  to  its  full  value," 
David  answered,  "  through  all  of  us  men  being  at 
the  war." 


li 


1  ^ia 

'11 


222 


A    SOLDIKR  OF   VAIJJ:^     FORCJE 


i  * 


ii 


mh^'  I 


"  15orro\v  a  little  here  and  there  from  a  friend." 

"All  t)f  our  friends  are  horrouinjr  right  and 
left.  'Ihere's  no  hope  there.  I've  done  my  [ksI 
there." 

"  Well,  well,"  remarked  John,  wrinkling  his  face 
into  a  very  serious  expression.  "  Well,  well,  that 
looks  very  had.  Ah!  —  let  me  .see;  —  you  would 
put  yourself  under  some  condition,  I  supix)se,  to 
get  this  money?  " 

The  thought  "  I  was  right  "  flashed  through 
David's  mind  as  he  answered,  "  any  possible  con- 
dition,    "lis  my  sister's  verv  life." 

"  Any    possible    condition,"    repeated    John    as 
though    absorbed    in   thought.      "  Well.    I've   been 
having  a  little  talk  over  with.  —  at  least,  a  little 
think  over.  —  I  mean  to  say  I've  been  thinking  it 
over,  and  I  find  I  must  impose  a  little  condition, 
something  very  trivial,  you  know,  and  more  as  a 
matter  of  form  than  anything  of  a  serious  nature. 
T  like  form,  you  know;    I  like  form."     He  rubbed 
his  hands  together  as  though  he  were  about  to  carry 
through  a  big  bargain  and  was  highly  pleased  with 
himself.      "  I'll  let  yon   have  the  money.  I'll   send 
it    to   your   mother    from    Philadelphia   the   day   I 
return,    which    will   be    itnmediately.      Your   word 
shall  be  my   security.      And   this   is   the  condition 
that,"  —  he  paused,  then  finished  rather  hurriedly, 


r " 


OFF  TO  WAR 


22;; 


—  "that  you  will  iiul  secretly,  nor  without  my  con- 
sent, marry  my  daughter  Anne." 

David  did  not  answer.  This  came  as  a  bolt  out 
of  the  blue  sky,  and  fur  a  moment  he  was  stunned. 
Not  that  he  had  ever  thought  of  marrying  secretly 
or  without  her  father's  consent,  but  sucli  conditions 
as  these  coming  from  John  Bradford  imjjiied  more 
than  they  e.\i)resscd.  They  showe  1  David  all  too 
clearly  that  John  was  against  the  marriage.  He 
had  suspected  this  before  as  he  knew  him  to  be 
more  particular  about  the  jxiunds,  shillings  and 
pence  a  man  possessed  than  the  character. 

As  no  answer  came  to  his  conditions  John  turned 
about  in  his  chair  the  better  t<j  see  the  other. 

"Why.  Mr.  Bradford."  David  began,  "I  don't 
see  —  " 

"  Never  mind.  Those  are  the  conditions,  and 
this  goes  with  them,  that  you  will  never  tell  her 
of  my  ref|uest.     N'nv.  what  do  you  sav?  " 

"Why,  sir.  I  don't  know.  What  can  I  say? 
I  —  " 

"  You  refuse?  "  M^r.  Rrarlford  slipped  his  hands 
down  on  the  arms  of  the  chair  and  faced  squarely 
about  at  David. 

"Oh.  no!  No,  nn,  Ruth's  life  must  be  consid- 
ered first.  Other  things  can  wait.  But  we  may 
have  your  consent  some  time?  " 


s'i' 


-  .air  J 

H 

*^  \ 

■  i 

224       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

"  I  don't  promise  that,"  said  Jolin  determinedly. 
"If  you  accept  my  terms,  and  give  me  your  word, 
neither  to  marry  Anne  without  my  consent  nor  tell 
her  of  this  agreement.  I'll  give  you  my  word  to 
send  your  mother  two  hundred  pounds  the  day  I 
reach  Philadelphia,  and  afterwards  to  supply  her 
with  whatever  funds  your  sister's  health  may  re- 
quire." 

Tliere  followed  a  long  pause.  David  started 
pacing  the  room,  his  head  bowed  low.  John  never 
moved.  The  little  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck 
twelve  in  clear,  silvery  notes  and  there  came  the 
piercing  blast  of  the  dinner-horn,  calling  the  men 
from  the  fields.  Footsteps  sounded  in  the  hall,  ap- 
proaching the  study  door. 

"  I  give  you  my  word,"  said  David  finally,  and 
they  shook  hands.  At  this  moment  the  door  was 
flung  open,  and  Barnabas  entered.  He  apologized 
on  the  plea  that  he  did  not  know  anybody  was  in 
the  room,  and  then  he  expressed  joy  that  his  father 
and  David  had  come  to  such  a  good  understanding 
about  something.  David  flushed  with  anger.  He 
felt  more  and  more  certain  that  these  "  conditions  " 
which  he  had  had  to  accept,  were  of  Barnabas's 
hatching.  He  made  a  sickly  grin  at  the  major  and 
left  the  room. 

During    dinner    everybody    was    silent.      Mrs. 


OFF  TO   WAR 


225 


Wharton  betrayed  tlie  fact  that  she  had  been  weep- 
ing by  her  red  eyes,  thougli  now  her  forced  smiles 
tried  to  belie  the  fact.  Asa  and  Oliver  both  looked 
very  serious,  a  seriousness  that  bordered  on  grim- 
ness  at  times.  Anne  and  Ruth  were  more  busy 
in  waiting  on  the  table  than  was  necessary.  But 
of  all  the  people  there  poor  David  was  the  most 
dejected.  The  whole  world  had  suddenly  become 
black  for  him  and  all  his  joy  had  been  blotted  out 
in  one  short  hour.  The  only  ray  of  hope  that 
gleamed  for  him  seemed  far.  far  away;  perhaps 
it  shone  from  some  strange  city  and  out  of  the 
future  after  the  war  was  ended.  Anne  tried  to 
catch  David's  eyes  to  send  him  a  message  of  love 
and  help,  for  his  evident  dejection  worried  her, 
but  David  would  not  trust  himself  to  meet  her  eyes. 
He  knew  that  she  was  watching  him  and  he  kept 
his  eyes  strictly  on  his  plate. 

The  meal  over  David  called  his  mother  aside 
and  explained  to  her  that  he  had  borrowed  two 
hundred  pounds  with  which  she  must  take  Ruth 
to  the  Barbadoes  or  some  warm  resort  the  soonest 
possible  moment.  His  mother  naturally  was  curi- 
ous as  to  how  Mr.  Bradford  came  to  lend  so  gen- 
erously of  his  money,  but  David  put  her  ofTP  with 
a  vague  answer,  and  that  ended  it.  Tlien  the  four 
soldiers  went  out  to  the  stable  to  prepare  their 


Il    ' 


[:<,***tv.     ! 


i» 


r.-tn"  r»i 


226       A  SOLDILH  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

horses  for  the  long  ride  next  day  to  Valley  Forge. 
As  David's  horse  happened  to  be  in  need  of  little 
attention  he  left  the  stable  before  the  others  and 
returned  to  the  house.  Anne  was  alone  in  the 
kitchen  when  he  entered.  When  she  looked  up 
from  her  work  David  noticed  a  troubled  expression 
in  her  face.  He  was  seized  with  a  sudden  impulse 
to  seize  her.  to  take  her  into  his  arms  and  comfort 
her;  she  was  his  now.  Then  he  felt  there  was 
a  great  barrier  between  them  somewhere.  There 
was  something  at  work  to  keep  them  apart;  and 
he  realized  that  his  fears  were  centred  upon  her 
father,  the  contemptible  man  that  would  be  trying 
to  sell  his  daughter  for  riches  and  a  title.     As  these 

things  were  passing  through  his  mind  David  stood 

staring  at  Anne. 

"Davy,  what  is  troubling  you  so?"  demanded 

Anne.      She   threw    aside   her    work    and    ran    to 

him.      She    took    two   firm   grips    with    her   little 

hands   in  his  tight  coat   and   looked   up   into  his 

face. 

"Davy,  boy."  she  pleaded,  "what  is  it?     What 

were  you   and   father  talking  about  in  the  study 

there  ?    Tell  me  what  he  said." 

The  young  soldier  put  his  arm  about  her  and 

nestled   her   against   him.      "  Tt    is    nothing,    little 

Anne,"   he    whispered.      "  Your   father   was   very 


h  \  '■ 


I  J. 


OFF  TO  WAR 


227 


i 


good  to  me.  He  lent  me  money,  and  now  we  can 
save  Ruth's  life." 

"  Then  are  you  so  sad  just  because  you  are 
leaving  to-morrow  ?    You  will  soon  be  back." 

"  Yes,  yes,  dearest.     I  will  soon  be  back." 

"  And  then,  Davy."  she  whispered  almost  inau- 
dibly,  "  won't  we  be  happy?  " 

Unconsciously  the  young  man  drew  his  arms 
tighter  and  iiis  head  sank  lower,  as  though  cringing 
from  a  stinging  lash. 

The  kitchen  door  was  thrust  open  and  old  Asa 
walked  in.  He  stared  in  surprise  on  catching  sight 
of  the  young  lovers  but  knowing  well  the  ways  of 
the  young,  he  quickly  recovered  and  went  about  his 
business  right  there  in  th:  kitchen  as  though  there 
was  nobody  else  in  the  world. 

The  next  morning  everybody  was  astir  long  be- 
fore sunrise,  and  they  sat  down  to  a  good  hearty 
breakfast,  prepared  by  the  servant  aided  by  Mrs. 
Wharton  and  Anne,  by  yellow  candle-light.  Before 
the  meal  was  half  finished,  though,  the  sun  was 
up  and  its  first  faint  rays  were  slanting  in  through 
the  dusty  panes  of  the  little  window  and  drawing 
a  wide  streak  across  the  floor.  David  watched  the 
growing  bar  of  light,  as  though  fascinated,  as  it 
slowly  crept  further  and  further  across  the  room, 
revealing  ever  new  patterns  in  the  vivid  rag  mats. 


II  i 


228       A  SOLDIER  OF   VALLEY   FORGE 

Asa  got  up  and  l)le\v  out  tlie  candles.  This  seemed 
to  give  the  day  great  courage,  for  the  bar  of  sun- 
hght  became  stronger  and  the  wliole  window 
brigliter.  Tlien  it  seemed  to  David  that  an  issue 
was  joined  between  the  dayhght  and  the  glowing 
fire,  fie  glanced  over  at  the  great  open  fireplace 
where  tiie  maid  was  turning  the  sizzling  pan-cakes 
on  the  griddle,  and  he  unconsciously  prayed  that 
the  firelight  would  win,  for  he  dreaded  this  day 
more  than  he  had  ever  before  dreaded  a  day.  He 
was  to  bid  farewell  to  .Anne  and  (o  ride  ofif  into 
the  wilderness  with  a  great  crushing  doubt  always 
with  him. 

His  broodings  were  disturbed  by  the  Reverend 
Oliver  shoving  his  fiench  back  from  the  table  and 
going  to  the  dresser  for  his  book  of  prayer.  At 
this  all  the  others  got  up  and  drew  back  their  chairs. 
Oliver  opened  his  book  at  a  place  marked  with  a 
purple  ribbon  and,  after  glancing  around  the  room 
to  see  that  all  were  attentive,  he  began  reading. 

All  listened  reverently,  .standing  with  bowed 
lieads,  and  when  he  came  to  the  words  "  Let  us 
pray,"  they  knelt  down  each  one  at  a  chair.  And 
then  a  wonderful  thing  hapj^^ned.  The  meaning 
of  prayer  suddenly  revealed  itself  to  David.  Tie 
found  himself  praying  with  all  his  heart  and  with 
all  his  soul.     A  thousand  times  he  had  been  on  his 


OFF  TO  WAR 


229 


knees  before,  repeating  prayers  with  his  father  at 
home  and  in  the  church,  but  now,  for  the  first  time, 
did  it  mean  anything  vital  to  him.  Now  did  he 
feel  the  Almighty  presence;  now  did  he  know  that 
he  was  being  heard  and  being  answered.  And  what 
a  marvellous  awakening  it  was  to  him!  And  what 
wonderful  comfort  and  hope  Hooded  through  him! 
During  the  long  ride  that  day  to  X'alley  Forge,  as 
he  pondered  over  the  wonderful  thing  that  had 
come  to  him,  he  thought  of  his  old,  boyish  attitude 
towards  pra;-^r.  He  remembered  how  he  had  al- 
ways reasoned  that  the  Infinite  Mind  must  know 
our  needs  and  that  all  our  asking  would  not  alter 
his  course.  Now  he  saw  the  absurdity  of  that. 
He  felt  that  every  soul  came  into  the  world  with 
its  doors  closed,  and  that  only  when  it  opened  its 
doors  by  desiring  and  praying  for  good  could  good 
enter.  The  sorrow  which  he  had  been  bearing,  a 
dead  weight,  had  become  lightened  by  other  shoul- 
ders. 

Immediately  after  prayers  the  four  men  went  to 
the  stable  and  brought  out  their  horses,  and  led 
them  around  to  the  front  door.  John  Bradford  was 
as  busy  as,  and  more  important  than,  any  of  the 
men.  He  talked  about  war,  and  condemned  all 
wars  as  the  games  of  fools,  but  he  said  this  war, 
where  the  King's  own  subjects  are  turned  against 


i 


'I 


'-II-  \, 

it 


f? 


i: 


230       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

him  and  all  over  a  cup  of  tea,  was  downright  idiocy. 
"  War,"  he  thundered,  "  all  arises  from  man's  do- 
ing unto  others  as  he  would  not  be  done  by."  But 
witli  all  his  noise  John  had  a  troubled  look  in  his 
face.  Perhaps  his  son's  departure  was  the  cause 
of  his  trouble,  or  perhaps  he  was  feeling  anxious 
about  his  own  person  during  the  c(jniing  dri\e  back 
to  Philadel])hia. 

A  few  words,  a  short  farewell,  and  the  four  men 
rode  off  to  their  stern  duty  of  toil  and  privation; 
atid  those  that  were  left  turned  back  with  heavy 
hearts  to  a  silent,  deserted  house. 


'■:■  ii 


m':]  H 


r 


■'   iff; 


lU 


1 


1 


CHAPTER    XIV 


IN    WHICH    NEW    ENEMIES    ARE    FOUND   AND   DEALT 

WITH 

There  was  good  r-'ws  waiting  to  lighten  the 
hearts  of  all  those  farmer-soldiers  who  were  leav- 
ing their  homes  and  families  and  returning  to  the 
bleak  camp  at  Valley  Forge:  France  had  entered 
into  ar;  alliance  with  the  United  States.  Tlie  trans- 
formation that  had  come  over  the  half-starved  army 
since  those  soldiers,  who  were  returning  from  leave 
of  absence,  had  left  it  was  indeed  amazing.  There 
was  whistling  and  there  was  singing  to  be  heard 
on  all  sides;  there  were  stern  shouts  of  command; 
men  ran  here  and  there  to  execute  their  orders  the 
quicker.  As  the  four  newcomers  rode  into  the 
midst  of  all  this  new  life  and  animation  their 
hearts  thrilled  in  response.  They  were  soon  en- 
lightened as  to  the  causes  of  it ;  an  alliance  formed 
with  France,  and  a  French  fleet  coming  to  co- 
operate with  the  .American  army.  Orders  had 
come  from  headqtiarters  for  the  whole  army  to  be 
ready  to  move  on  short  notice.     As  to  where  they 

231 


1 

I 


U  J-  " 


h] 


i  , 


t!  I 


h. 


». 


"f*! 


23«   A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

were  to  move  to  nobody  doubted.  If  tlie  French 
fleet  could  get  control  of  the  Delaware  River  it 
would  be  up  to  the  Americans  to  get  control  of  the 
British  army.  After  the  long,  cruel  winter  of  in- 
activity, all  this  excitement  and  promise  of  action 
was  balm  indeed  to  the  dispirited  farmers.  On 
every  hand  the  new  drill,  brought  over  from  Prus- 
sia that  winter  by  the  Baron  von  Steuben,  was 
being  taught.  n,.y,  shouted;  and  snappy  little 
squads  were  pacing  it  up  and  down  over  the  soggy 
ground.  It  was  not  very  long  before  Barnabas 
and  David  and  old  Asa  himself  were  drilling  and 
shouting  to  equal  any  of  them.  The.se  three,  being 
officers,  had  been  instructed  in  the  new  drill,  when 
first  it  had  been  introduced,  and  so  they  were  now 
competent  tcacliers. 

But  this  new  life  was  nmning  at  too  high  a  pitch 
to  last.  A  month  passed  and  the  order  for  a  gen- 
eral advance  never  came.  Gradually  the  excite- 
ment subsided:  there  was  not  so  much  hilarity  in 
the  singing,  and  the  words  of  command  were  not 
shouted  in  quite  such  stentorian  voices.  But  the 
preparations  continued  with  unabated  energy,  and 
every  man  knew  that  they  were  on  the  eve  of  some 
great  work.  And  evidently  things  were  moving 
again  in  Philadelphia  after  their  long,  winter  sleep. 
Burgoyne  returned  to  England.    Shortly  after  this, 


ki' 


NEW  ENEMIES 


233 


in  May,  came  the  news  that  Sir  Wilham  Howe  was 
giving  up  the  command  of  the  British   forces  in 
America,   aiul   would   sliortly  return   to  his  native 
land.     Next  came  the  news  of  Lee's  return.     This 
latter  news  caused  much   wrangling  and   arguing 
when  the  men   were  collected  around  the  fires  at 
night.      The   major-general's   popularity   had   con- 
siderably dwindled  since  his  capture,  until  now  his 
critics   and  admirers   were  pretty  evenly  divided. 
Some  -sage  observers  held  that  Lee  would  be  the 
ruin  of  the  Great  Cause  yet,  while  others  held  that, 
after  their  much  loved  commander-in-chief  himself, 
Lee  was  the  life  of  the   .\merican   army.     They 
were  very  much  inclined  to  argue  as  to  who  would 
be  the  most  likely  man  in  England  to  succeed  Sir 
William;    but  here  they   found  difficulties,  as  not 
one  man  of  them  in  a  hundred  knew  anything  about 
the  men  of  England. 

All  these  bits  of  gossip  however  were  swept  from 
their  minds  when  one  day  a  horseman  galloped 
into  camp  with  the  dread  news  that  the  Mohawks 
were  again  busy  killing  and  burning.  This  was 
news  diat  struck  at  every  man's  heart.  They  all 
had  left  homes  and  dear  ones  off  there  in  one  or 
another  ])art  of  the  great  wilderness.  No  man 
could  reassure  himself  with  the  thought  that  at  any 
rate  the  Indians  were  not  near  his  home.     No  home 


ms 


I  '-•i'-.- 


234       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

was  safe  nor  out  of  raiifjfe.  To-day  some  isolated 
farmstead  wouUl  be  blotted  from  the  world,  a  few 
days  of  silence,  then  the  painted  bands  would  slip 
from  behind  tlie  trees  on  a  sunny  afternoon,  sur- 
round a  (|uiet.  prosperous  home,  and  another  nest 
of  the  hated  "  whites  "  would  be  trodden  into  the 
ground. 

From  end  to  end  the  camp  was  abuzz  with  indig- 
nation. Such  fierce  protest  arose  on  every  side 
that,  at  one  time,  there  was  danger  of  some,  who 
had  homes  in  the  close  vicinity  where  the  last  out- 
rage had  been  committed,  taking  things  into  their 
own  hands  antl  clearing  off  to  fight  the  Indians. 
Indignation  blazed  even  fiercer  when  it  was  learned 
that  certain  New  York  Tories  were  enlisted  in  the 
ranks  of  the  redskins.  But  Washington,  although 
giving  ear  to  a  thousand  other  things  at  that  mo- 
ment, was  not  deaf  to  this  new  trouble.  lie,  in  his 
own  way,  was  as  enraged  as  any.  The  farmers 
argued  that  something  could  be  done;  that  the 
army  was  lying  idle  all  these  weeks.  Why  didn't 
the  general  do  something?  they  demanded  of  one 
another.  And  the  general  was  doing  somediing, 
but  even  this  matter  required  time  and  careful  con- 
sideration. He  could  not  spare  a  man  in  the 
fight  which  he  counted  on  to  take  place  in  the 
near    future    with     the     British     force    in     Phila- 


\U 


NEW  ENKMIES 


235 


clfl[)hia.    The  expedition  must  go  and  return  in  time 
to  tiglit. 

W'asliington  paced  liis  small  room  up  and  down, 
up  and  down;  and  every  minute  or  so  he  studied 
a  large,  detail  map  that  lay  spread  out  upon  his 
tal)le.  This  was  in  the  early  evening,  but  it  was 
cpiite  dark  in  the  liltle  room,  for  the  one  candle 
which  the  general  held  so  closely  over  the  map 
gave  a  poor  light  indeed.  At  times  he  grew  impa- 
tient, lie  would  set  the  heavy  brass  candlestick 
down  off  the  table  with  a  (luick  decisive  movement, 
and  then  he  would  sit  back  in  his  chair  and  think, 
rapping  the  deal  table  the  while  with  his  knuckles. 
Finally  he  rang  a  bell,  and  an  orderly  entered. 

"  Vou  know  where  to  fmd  Captain  Wharton,  do 
you  not?  Well,  I  would  like  to  see  him  as  soon 
as  possible." 

The  orderly  saluted  and  went  out.  About  ten 
minutes  later  the  door  opened  and  a  young  officer 
entered  and  stood  at  attention  before  the  general. 

"  Good  evening,  ca[)tain.  Take  that  bench  there. 
I  want  to  have  a  few  minutes'  talk  with  you." 

David  took  the  bench  indicated,  near  the  great 
fireplace,  and  waited  for  the  general  to  speak. 
Washington  sat  still  for  a  number  of  minutes  with- 
out speaking,  his  head  slightly  bowed.  This  time 
impressed  itself  ineffaceably  upon  the  young  man's 


I  i!!fc|"f; 


!  m 


% 


li! 


1 1 

1    : 


236       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

mind.  Here  he  was  waiting  while  the  minutes  sped 
by  and  something,  what  great  sclicmc  he  knew  not, 
was  being  planned  for  him  by  this  master  mind. 
The  great  Washington  himself,  the  eye  and  brain 
of  the  .  .merican  nation,  was  here  before  him.  He 
watched  the  bowed  head  cut  in  clear  outline  against 
the  candle-light.  He  marvelled  at  the  high  domed 
forehead,  the  strong  nose,  and  the  square,  firm 
jaw.  His  instinct  told  him,  and  his  heart  told  him, 
that  this  was  the  face  of  a  ni.i'i.  The  very  lofti- 
ness of  the  inmate  threw  into  contrast  the  mean- 
ness of  his  surroundings,  in  one  sense;  but  in  an- 
other way  it  made  the  barren  closet-room  look 
noble.  David  had  never  realized  until  now  just 
how  much  the  general's  head(|uarters  lacked  all 
luxuries  and  most  necessities.  The  room  was  cold, 
and  the  small  fire  puiil'ed  more  smoke  into  the 
atmosphere  than  heat.  Its  bark  was  very  lotid 
indeed  for  such  a  little  fire,  but  the  promised  bite 
never  came.  The  table  was  of  the  plainest  deals 
spiked  together;   and  evidently  candles  were  scarce. 

Tlie  young  captain  had  just  reached  this  far  in 
hi.  observations  when  Washington  looked  up. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  Gates?"  he  de- 
manded. 

David  was  so  surpri.sed  by  this  question  that  lie 
was  at  a  loss  how  to  answer.     Finally  he  said. 


m  ^: 


m,: 


■  I 


NEW  ENEMIES 


237 


"  Only  what  the  general  gossip  a'lxmt  camp  says, 
sir;    nothing  ilctinite." 

Tlie  K '"eral  thrust  his  right  hand  out  upon  the 
111.11)  'vhich  lay  in  front  of  him  and  tapped  a  spot 
u  ith  his  finger. 

"  Do  you  know  this  section  of  the  country  at 
all?    It  is  not  very  far  from  here." 

David  went  to  the  tahle  and  looked  closely  at  the 
section  of  the  map  indicated. 

"  Ves,  sir."  he  answered.  "  I've  gone  through 
that  part  of  the  country  once  hy  canoe  when  trav- 
elling to  Moose  Head.     I  know  it  pretty  well." 

Washington  lof)ked  relieved  and  pleased.  Pie 
turned  about  in  his  chair  and  faced  his  subordinate. 

"  Well,  captain,  I  want  you  to  go  there  again. 
It  is  about  there  that  the  Indians  will  be  breaking 
<nit  next.  At  any  rate  there's  an  Indian  village 
in  that  vicinity  that  is  responsible  for  more  than 
the  people  realize.  .\nd,  moreover.  I  have  reason 
to  believe  that  a  number  of  Tories  have  taken  to 
tin's  village  as  their  headquarters,  from  which  thev 
can  strike  out  at  the  unprotected  farms  near  and 
far.  It  is  a  small  village.  Take  a  half-troop,  cap- 
tain, and  w  ipe  that  village  out." 


And  so  it  happened  that  two  days  later  twelve 
canoes    threaded    their    way    up    a    narrow    river, 


238 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


i 


H 
I!  !!■ 


i,.<,    ii 


,'    •» 


%  '  (!■ 


li 


1" 


puking  and  paddling  and  s(;nietimes  towing  their 
cumbersome  bircli-bark  canoes,  which  had  been 
procured  from  farmers  and  friendly  Indians.  Every 
little  while  the  men  had  to  disembark,  unload  the 
canoes  and  portage  everything  around  some  dan- 
gerous rapids  or  stretch  of  shoal  water.  But  every 
man  in  this  little  army  knew  his  business.  They 
all  had  had  experience  in  camping  and  handling 
canoes. 

David  paddled  in  the  stern  of  the  leading  canoe. 
His  bow  padiller  was  a  young  man  who  was  a  na- 
tive of  this  part  of  the  Cfjuntry  and  knew  every 
little  trail  and  stream.  The  canoe  was  laden  with 
a  large  box,  in  which  was  carried  food,  such  as 
Indian  meal,  smoked  meats  and  vegetables,  and 
some  heavy  brass  cooking  utensils;  besides  the  box 
was  a  small  roll  of  blankets,  two  mu.skets  and  an 
axe. 

As  evening  approached.  David  and  his  compan- 
ion kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  a  high  piece  of  ground 
suitable  for  camping  on.  Just  before  dark  came 
on  they  spied  a  trickling  spring,  and  just  above  it 
the  ground  rose  to  a  beautiful  dry  plateau  just 
large  enough  to  hold  the  twelve  canoes  comfort- 
ably. It  was  a  long,  tedious  job  starting  a  fire 
with  the  flin«^  and  steel,  but  finally  one  was  made: 
three  others  were  started  with  blazing  brands  and 


NEW  ENEMIES 


239 


immediately  the  brass  pots  were  suspended  over 
them  by  means  of  stakes,  one  end  of  which  was 
driven  into  the  ground.  At  all  these  fires  they 
cooked  about  the  same  things,  namely,  potatoes,  or 
other  vegetables.  t(j  be  eaten  with  the  smoked  bacon 
or  any  game  they  succeeded  in  procuring  during 
the  day;  and  a  big  pot  of  cotTee.  The  coffee,  I 
may  add,  was  made  from  dry  rye  and  chestnuts; 
but  this  concoction  was  very  agreeable  to  the  hun- 
gry voyagers.  Their  natural  craving  for  sweet 
things  was  satisfied  by  molasses  and  quantities  of 
maple  sugar.  As  they  were  to  be  up  and  ofif  before 
daybreak  all  turned  in  very  early.  "  Turning  in  " 
consisted  in  rolling  c  self  up  in  a  heavy  blanket 
or  two  and  crawling  under  an  overturned  canoe. 
Two  men  slept  under  each  canoe,  their  heads 
toward  the  middle  bar.  Tliis  accounted  for  but 
twenty-four  of  the  half-troop;  the  remaining  six 
however  rolled  themselves  up  in  their  blankets  close 
to  the  fires  and  slept  quite  as  soundly  as  any.  Two 
men  at  a  time  took  watch,  each  couple  keeping 
guard  for  an  hour. 

Dawn  found  them  toiling  slowly  up-stream. 
The  high-pitched  click  of  the  spruce  poles,  striking 
the  strong  bed  of  the  river,  sounded  very  loud  in 
this  confined  way  between  the  tall  crowding  woods. 
The  men  looked  picturesque  as  they  toiled,  some 


[■1  I"' 

i  ; 


240       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

clad  in  red  baize  jackets,  some  in  green ;  some  wore 
the  coat  of  the  Continentals  with  leather  breeches. 
Tliey  all  wore  long  Indian  moccasins.  One  mo- 
ment tliey  were  in  the  canoes  heaving  on  their  poles, 
tlie  next  moment  tliey  were  out  in  the  water  drag- 
gnig  their  craft  up  against  the  roaring  torrent. 
Where  it  was  possible  for  a  man  to  walk  in  the 
woods,  following  the  course  of  the  stream,  two  or 
three  always  did  so.  This  precaution  was  taken 
for  fear  of  a  sudden  attack  from  Indians.  One  or 
two  men  walked  in  the  woods  on  each  side  of  the 
stream,  well  in  advance  of  the  party. 

About  noon  of  the  third  day  they  entered  the 
locality  where  the  Indians   were  sui>posed  to  be. 
Deeming  it  far  from  safe  to  go  any  further  while 
it  was  daylight,  David  ordered  camp  to  be  made. 
He  told  his  men  that  there  was  night  work  at  hand, 
and  that  they  had  better  eat  heartily  of  cold  food, 
as  no  fires  could  be  lit,  and  take  plenty  of  rest. 
They  were  to  attack  the  village,  if  they  themselves 
were  not  attacked  before,  immediately  it  was  dark. 
The  captain  picked  out  three  of  the  most  skilful 
scouts,  men  as  apt  and  cunning  in  Indian  ways  as 
the  Indian  himself,  and  sent  them  ahead  to  find  out 
anything  they  could   about  the  enemy.      But  the 
facts    that    were    wanted    most    particularly    were 
whether  or  no  the  Indians  knew  that  a  force  had 


■,^^^33m^^W9S3S7^immsp^%.^.2;m 


NEW  ENEMIES 


241 


come  against  theiii,  and  about  how  many  fighters 
there  were  all  told  in  the  village.  One  of  the 
scouts  sent  out  was  the  young  bow  paddler  of  the 
captain's  canoe. 

The  hardy  farmer- soldiers  waited  through  the 
long  afternoon,  restless  and  eager  to  be  off.  Some 
tried  to  sleep,  but  most  of  them  sat  still  and  watched 
the  shadow  patterns  play  monotonously  over  the 
brown  floor  of  the  forest  and  listened.  These  men 
who  knew  how  to  fight  so  hard  for  the  liberty  of 
their  country,  knew  how  to  fight  much  harder  for 
the  lives  of  their  people.  Many  reloaded  their 
muskets  and  exchanged  the  ball  for  a  handful  of 
buckshot;  something  calculated  to  do  more  dam- 
age when  fired  into  a  mass  of  men  than  a  single 
ball. 

Late  in  tlip  afternoon  two  of  the  scouts  returned. 
They  had  learned  little,  having  found  it  impossible 
to  get  within  seeing  or  hearing  distance  of  the  vil- 
lage. There  were  fresh  signs  of  Indians  every- 
where, and  very  likely  all  the  warriors  were  at 
home,  either  just  about  to  set  out  on  a  bloody  ex- 
pedition or  had  just  returned  from  one.  God  grant 
it  be  not  the  latter,  prayed  they,  but  that  they  would 
be  in  time  to  save  some  innocent  lives. 

It  was  getting  dark,  and  the  young  man  in  whom 
they  now  put  their  only  hopes  of  getting  informa- 


■        .  /6 


m  "  i 


242       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  F(JRGE 

tion  had  not  returned.     If  he  had  been  captured 
their  case  was  scriuus,  as  the  Indians  could  attack 
them  uliere  and  when  they  cliose.       David  became 
very  anxious,     lie  debated  with  himself  whether, 
under  the  circumstances,  it  would  be  better  to  stay 
where  they  were,  all  night  if  need  be,  until  the  lad 
returned,  for  here  they  could  easily  defend  them- 
selves if  attacked;  or  wh.-ther  it  would  not  be  wiser 
to  push  ahead  immediately  on  the  chance  cjf  even 
yet  taking  the  Indians  by  surprise.      He  had  just 
decided  that  the  men  would  not  stand  for  any  all 
night  delay,  and  that   it  was  better  to  attack  the 
village  as  quickly  as  they  could,  when  he  was  star- 
tled by  the  snapping  of  a  twig  close  at  hand.     Me 
glanced  up,  and  then  from  behind  a  tree  peered  the 
beady  eyes  of  an  Indian.     David  was  too  startled 
for   a   moment    to   move.      He    felt,    rather   than 
thought,  that  they  were  surrounded,  that  this  one 
had  betrayed  him.self  intentionally,  and  that  at  any 
instant  a  volley  would  roar  out,  dropping  them  to 
a  man.     Without  turning,  he  shouted  a  warning  to 
his  men.     .\t  this  noise,  the  Indian  who  had  been 
as  still  as  a  statue  since  David  spied  him.  jerked 
his   head    from    side   to    side,    then    turned    about, 
holding  carefully  to  the  tree  the  while,  and  finally 
started  off  back  into  the  woods  with  a  half-running-, 
half-walking  gait. 


'^^'90-  C9MLQb^^ 


NEW  ENEMIES 


243 


Tlie  soldiers  rushed  to  their  captain  and  stood 
')'  'Ut  him,  their  muskets  ready.  As  nothing  seemed 
o  come  of  it  all,  David  presently  turned  to  them 
and  described  the  strange  actions  of  the  Mohawk 
whom  he  had  caught  spying  on  them.  When  he  had 
told  of  the  way  in  which  the  Indian  had  walked, 
some  one  spoke  the  one  word  "  drunk."  This  was 
the  most  likely  explanation,  and  their  hope  went  out 
like  a  snuffed  candle.  If  that  were  true  then  they 
had  come  too  late.  The  Indian  revels  after  his 
work  is  done  and  not  before.  Somewhere  a  farm, 
or  perhaps  a  whole  settlement,  was  in  smouldering 
ruins. 

Tliere  was  no  holding  the  men  back  now  even 
if  their  captain  had  wanted  to.  To  look  at  these 
fellows  one  would  think  they  had  just  received  news 
that  their  own  homes  had  been  burned;  their  own 
people  killed.  Their  faces  were  hard  and  set,  and 
they  did  the  few  things  they  had  to  do  before  set- 
ting off  with  what  might  be  termed  a  terrible  de- 
termination. 

At  a  word  from  their  commander  the  little  bodv 
of  Continentals  jumped  eagerly  into  line,  each  man 
giving  a  last,  hasty  touch  here  and  there  over  hi-^ 
pockets,  etc..  to  make  sure  he  had  everything,  such 
as  powder,  balls  and  knife.  When  every  man  was 
accounted  for  David  started  at  a  fast  stride  through 


244       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


:i.^-'r 


tlie  woods;  the  otiiers  followed  in  single  file.  He 
knew  that  the  village  was  on  the  banks  of  the 
stream,  and  so  his  best  guide  was  the  watercourse 
itself,  lie  was  not  sure  of  the  distance  but  be- 
lieved it  to  be  about  two  miles.  If  only  the  poor 
young  fellow  who  had  not  returned  were  with  them 
now.  he  thought. 

On  they  passed;  now.  when  the  more  opened 
woods  allowed,  breaking  into  a  trot,  now  slowly 
crawling,  crouching  low  beneath  the  den.se  branches. 
At  times  they  lost  the  stream  and  had  to  circle  far 
to  the  left  in  order  to  pick  it  up  again,  though  for 
most  of  its  course  the  waters  advertised  them.selves 
by  their  thin,  hollow  roar.  The  moccasined  feet  of 
these  expert  trailers  gave  little  warning  of  their 
presence ;  the  ground  was  .soft  and  springy,  and  in- 
stinctively their  feet  refused  to  tread  on  sticks  or 
twigs,  the  betrayers  of  the  clumsy  trailer. 

They  had  been  going  about  twenty  minutes, 
when  they  suddenly  came  out  on  to  a  wide,  well- 
beaten  track,  running  in  their  direction  along  the 
course  of  the  stream.  This  they  followed,  though 
now  moving  ahead  more  cautiouslv.  It  was  on  ac- 
count of  their  silent  moving  that  David  was  able  to 
hear  the  pat.  pat  of  running  feet  coming  towards 
him  down  the  trail.  He  instantly  drew  aside  close 
in  against  the  black  trunks  of  the  trees,  whispering 


NEW  ENEMIES 


245 


a  command  to  the  man  nearest  him  to  do  the  same. 
Jn  a  moment  the  path  was  clear.  The  runner  drew 
near,  and  now  otlier  footfalls  could  be  heard  close 
behind  the  first.  David  stood  ready  with  his  knife 
to  spring  on  to  the  runner  if  it  proved  to  be  an 
Indian.  The  man  reached  the  spot  where  Wharton 
was  concealed,  —  and  slipped  by.  making  a  harsh 
gasping  scnnid  as  he  passed;  no  man  moved.  .\s 
he  passed  them  they  recogm'zed  the  missing  scout. 
I'ifty  feet  behind  him  came  his  jnirsuers,  two  fleet 
Mohawks  running  lightly,  and  swiftly  overhauling 
him. 

David  let  the  first  one  pass;  his  men  could  deal 
with  him.  But  when  the  second  Indian  came  within 
reach  the  young  captain  leajjed  upon  him  and  threw 
him  to  the  ground.  There  was  no  exchange  of 
words;  David  knew  that  a  fight  with  an  Indian  had 
but  one  ending,  —  death  for  one  of  them.  Tliere 
was  no  such  thing  as  quarter,  and  mercy  was  un- 
known to  the  Indian.  The  savage  was  taken  com- 
pletely by  surprise;  he  crumpled  under  the  weight 
of  ins  assailant;  but,  as  he  fell,  he  struck  with  his 
knife  instinctively.  David  had  always  had  a  horror 
of  anything  that  seemed  like  treachery,  and  he 
loathed  the  job  he  had  to  do  now,  but  all  this  feel- 
ing vanished  like  a  vision  when  he  felt  the  keen 
sting  of  the  knife  in  his  side.     He  thrust  twice  like 


m 


i'. 


t 

J'" 


I 


■ 

' 

t     ;■■ 

!': 

iir 

'.  M 

V" 

t    t 

:i  ^f'!  i 

246       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

liglitningf  with  his  short  skinning  knife;  and  his 
thrusts  went  home.  Meanwhile  most  of  the  others 
had  been  deahng  with  savage  number  one,  and,  in 
their  excitement  and  desire  to  do  their  work  thor- 
oughly, they  had  given  no  thought  to  their  captain. 
A  muii!)cr  of  them  had  received  wounds,  for  the 
fir>;  Indian  had  had  time  to  draw  his  knife,  having 
been  warned  of  danger  by  David's  attack.  Also 
the  men  had  crowded  around  him,  handicapping 
each  other  hopelessly.  The  ycjung  scout  bad  come 
in  for  his  share  of  excitement,  too.  He  naturally 
had  mistaken  the  tlark  figures  that  had  pounced  out 
after  him  as  he  thought,  to  be  Indians.  He  made 
one  wild  slash  at  the  man  nearest  him  and  fell 
absolutely  exhausted  to  the  ground.  Luckily  the 
man  nearest  him  was  not  near  enough,  and  so  no 
harm  was  done. 

As  soon  as  the  rescued  lad  was  able  to  speak, 
David,  whose  wound  proved  to  be  very  slight,  in- 
quired of  him  the  best  direction  in  which  to  come 
on  to  the  village.  The  lad  warned  him  that  this 
path  was  always  guarded,  that  they  woidd  have  to 
ford  the  stream  and  strike  the  village  from  the 
other  direction.  He  also  told  them  in  short  broken 
sentences  that  the  whole  village,  about  sixty  In- 
dians and  seven  white  men  all  told,  were  assem- 
bled and  were  dancing  and  drinking  around  two 


'>V*\'. 


tS  '■:S^,M.'S  ^F-^,^'1. 


NEW  ENEMIES  247 

?reat   fires.     On   every   side,  he  concluded,    were 
unmistakable  signs  of  their  devil's  work,  the  accom- 
plishment  of   which   they    were    now   celebrating. 
Kven  this  hardy  lad,  inured  to  the  life  of  peril  and 
bloodshed,  wept  as  he  told  of  what  he  had  seen; 
"  the  pity  of  it,  the  horror  of  it,  oh,  the  cruelty."' 
lie  raved.     He  begged  them  to  hurry,  it  was  but 
a  short  two  miles,  run.  run.  he  pleaded.     Tlie  grim 
farmers  laid  the  youth  gently,  even  reverently,  on 
to  a  bed  of  soft  moss  close  to  the  water.     Flis  words 
had  little  meaning,  they  thought  the  lad  was  half 
delirious,  for  he  was  over-tired  and  thev  found  an 
'•pen  wotmd  in  his  head;   but  for  all  that  his  words 
went  to  their  hearts  and  added  to  the  fire  that  was 
raging  there. 

They  slid  off  into  the  night  leaving  the  boy  talk- 
ing quietly  to  himself.     They  forded  the  stream 
and  followed  up  along  the  bank  as  before.     Pres- 
ently,  a  puflF  of  wind   blowing  in   their  direction, 
brought    a    weird    sound    of   human    voices    high-  . 
pitched  and  still  far  off.     They  pressed  on.  every 
now  and  then  forgetting  caution  and  breaking  into 
a  scrambling  run.     Sixty  Indians  in  all,  David  con- 
sidered, meant  about  twenty  warriors,  perhaps  thirty 
nt  most,  and  then  there  were  seven  white  men  who 
would  be  the  most  desperate  fighters  of  all.     Suc- 
cess was  a  very  doubtful  thing  with  the  sides  so 


«48       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

evenly  matched;    certainty  lay  only  in  their  tnan- 
asinjjf  to  take  theni  by  surprise. 

The  sounds  that  arose  from  that  village  became 
stranger  and  more  terrible  the  nearer  they  got. 
There  was  music  of  some  sort  and  shrieks ;  in  short, 
all  the  unheard-of  noise  of  the  old  Indian  battle 
orgy.  Soon  they  could  see  the  faint  glow  of  their 
fires  above  the  tree-tops. 

Crawling  that  last  hundred  yards  or  so  up  to  the 
edge  of  the  firelit  clearing  was  an  experience  per- 
haps more  thrilling  and  more  to  be  remembered 
than  the  actual  fighting  that  followed     The  reddish 
yellow  glare  of  the  great  f^res  shot  down  in  long 
lanes  of  light  through  the  dark  woods,  between  the 
black  trunks.    Twice  as  they  crept  with  infinite  care, 
lest  even  a  twig  should  crack,  they  came  on  to  the 
bodies  of  sleeping  Indians;    but  as  they  seemed  to 
be  very  securely  asleep,  with  no  danger  of  waking 
for  many  an  hour,  they  deemed  it  unnecessary  to 
kill  them.     On   they  crept  even  more  carefully  as 
they  approached  the  edge  of  the  woods.    They  were 
spread  out  over  a  space  of  about  a  hundred  feet. 
This  enabled  them  to  reach  the  clearing  all  at  the 
same  time,  and  they  were  close  enough  together  to 
make  a  volley  most  efifective.    No  guard  was  posted 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  village  as  David  had  feared 
might  be  the  case.    The  well  disciplined  Continen- 


NEW  ENEMIES 


249 


tals  lay  down  on  their  stomachs  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood  ,  their  muskets  thrust  in  front  of  them,  and 
watched  the  wild  spectacle.  Many  of  them  had 
often  watched  this  thing  ber.re,  but  never  with  so 
much  lust  for  vengeance  in  Jieir  hearts  as  now. 
The  painted  Mohawks  danced,  if  tl  ir  contortions 
could  be  called  dancing,  about  the  fires,  while  a 
short  distance  back  sat  an  interested  group  of  on- 
lookers. Among  these  onlcxkers  the  farmers  spied 
the  fine  gentlemen  that  had  j.  -ned  tlieir  cause  with 
these  savages,  to  slaughter  women  and  children  and 
pkuuler  homes. 

Captain  Wharton  maiie  the  signals  agreed  upon, 
and  every  man  stood  up  in  his  place  back  in  the 
shadow  of  the  woods.  They  raised  their  muskets, 
each  man  carefully  picking  out  his  legitimate  prey, 
the  savage  nearest  him,  and  they  aimed  low  at  tlie 
waistband.  For  one  second  more  the  dancing  con- 
tinued, the  picture  continued,  for  one  second  only, 
then  — 

The  captain  shouted,  "  Fire !  "  and  thirty  mus- 
kf'ls  crashed  together. 

For  a  moment,  the  noise  of  the  orgy  having  sud- 
denly stopped,  all  was  silent.  But  this  silence  was 
sl:attered  as  suddenly  as  the  picture.  The  shrieks 
of  the  wounded  were  more  horrible  than  these  of 
the  revellers;    the  screams  of  the  squaws  and  chil- 


R 


■: 


•f 


i'^ 


'  I  M 


ii  .:: 


.ifMir,i 


.1   r:i'i 


/   ill  II, 'J 

»      if    i(-r' 


M  ■Li.; 


:i 


!:S 


ii;;  1 

I    !'! 

i 


II  ill 

i    ill 


250       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   F()R(,E 

dren,  who  knew  not  in  which  direction  to  Ikr,  and 
louder  than  all.  the  shouts  of  the  fanners  as  they 
broke  froni  the  cover  of  the  woods  to  avenge  li>eir 
butchered  people. 

The  scanty  handful  of  warriors  that  survived 
that  terrible  volley  held  their  ground,  grabbing  iip 
what  weapons  they  coidd  find,  until  the  wmnen  and 
children  had  time  to  Hee  into  the  woods,  then  they 
fled  after  them.     The  village  lay  deserted. 

After  putting  the  wounded  out  of  their  miseries, 
David  directed  their  attention  to  the  wigwams, 
which  stood  in  a  rough  half-circle  about  the  clear- 
ing. The  fires  were  beginning  to  die  down  now, 
and  the  fitful  half-light  which  they  threw  over  the 
scene  gave  a  ghostly  touch  to  everything;  the  dead 
men  that  lay  sprawled  in  grotesque  attitudes  over 
the  ground  appeared  to  move  and  twist  as  the  black 
shadows  leaped  about  them ;  the  pointed  wigwams, 
which  one  instant  were  so  dim  that  one  could  hardly 
discern  them  against  the  black  woods  behind,  the 
next  instant  stood  out  in  a  strange  pallor  as  the 
firelight  played  over  the  birch-bark.  Whenever  a 
flame  sprang  into  life  the  tiny  doors  of  the  wig- 
wams seemed  to  grin  and  gape  at  the  intruders  as 
though  daring  them  to  enter. 

The  captain  grabbed  up  a  burning  brand   from 
the  fire  and  started  for  the  nearest  structure.     He 


NEW   ENEMIES 


iS\ 


ordered  five  of  his  men  to  do  tl.e  same,  while  the 
others  spread  themselves  out  in  every  direction  to 
keep  guard.  A  number  of  warriors  had  escaped, 
and,  aUIiough  armed  only  with  the  knives  and  toma- 
hawks, which  they  had  used  in  their  dancing,  they 
cmikl  be  counted  on  to  {\o  some  damage  yet. 

As  David  put  his  light  to  the  bark  of  a  wigwam 
a  tomaliawk  pierced  the  wall  of  bark  close  lo  his 
head.  Soon  the  entire  encampment  was  ablaze, 
riie  angry  red  flames  shot  up  through  heavy  black 
smoke,  and  in  a  few  seconds  after  it  was  lit  the 
whole  birch-bark  structure  was  a  blazing  torch. 
The  soldiers  dared  not  stand  in  this  bright  light, 
an  easy  mark  for  the  concealed  red-skins,  so  they 
backed  ofT  towards  the  far  end  of  tlie  clearing. 

It  was  now  that  they  noticed  for  the  first  time 
the  heartrending  evidences  of  the  work  that  these 
savages  had  accomplished.  Now  the  words  of  the 
wounded  boy  sounded  again  in  their  ear:,.  Here 
were  the  blotxly  scalps  of  women  and  children,  and 
here  the  mangled  forms  of  those  who  had  been  cap- 
tured and  tortured.  Great  sacks  of  meal  were  piled 
high,  and  four  horses  were  tethered  to  a  tree. 
Kvery  conceivable  article  of  the  white  man's  home- 
stead was  to  be  seen. 

Two  soldiers  were  struck  dov.n  as  they  walked, 
one  killed  and  the  other  seriously  wounded.    Whar- 


2^m.i^'^2^j^ 


Pi 


•I  ■  ■■* 


I'll  ■,>• 


m 
m 


'    MM'" 

H.1  " 

'  %  ■[ 

111-*   : 


'n: 


252       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

ton  ordered  the  men  to  make  a  rapid  search  for 
any  living  captives.  Nothing  more  was  found,  and 
as  it  was  hopeless  to  try  to  destroy  all  the  Indians' 
grain,  etc.,  he  ordered  them  to  retreat  into  the  cover 
of  the  woods.  Again,  and  a^  suddenly  as  before, 
the  picture  had  changed.  No  living  person  was  in 
sight.  In  place  of  the  beautiful,  fairy-like  wigwams 
there  were  now  glowing  masses  of  coals ;  the  cen- 
tral fires  were  now  burning  low  and  so  the  blackness 
of  night  seemed  to  be  creeping  out  of  the  woods  and 
laying  soft,  damp  fingers  over  the  light,  until  only 
here  and  there  a  faint  scar  of  /ed  glowed  out  be- 
tween. Tliere  was  absolute  silence.  As  David,  the 
last  to  Itave  the  clearing,  entered  the  woods,  he 
turned  a  grim  face  towards  the  ruins;  and  he 
thought  what  a  merciful  thing  it  was  that  the  night 
hid  such  sights  even  for  a  little  while. 

Their  going  was  much  as  their  coming;  poling 
the  canoes  through  rapids  by  day,  and  sleeping 
under  the  canoes  by  night.  One  difference  however 
there  was.  The  Indians,  how  many  they  never 
knew,  pursued  them  relentlessly  day  and  night, 
never  losing  an  opportunity  to  do  them  injury. 
But  as  they  were  now  running  with  the  current  one 
man  could,  as  a  rule,  manage  a  canoe  by  himself, 
so  they  were  able  to  keep  a  strong  guard  on  both 
sides  of  the  stream.     During  the  two  and  a  half 


NE\     r.NEMIES  253 

days  they  were  return.ng  one  middle-aged  farmer 
was  killed  as  he  was  plodding  along  in  advance  of 
the  others.  Three  others  were  slightly  wounded 
at  dififerent  times. 

The  price  that  this  little  army  of  sturdy  farmers 
had  paid  in  killed  and  wounded  was  not  over  great, 
considering  the  good  work  they  had  done.  After 
this  exploit  David  Wharton  became  a  major. 


^^m:^iM!^^SLm 


f«'t 


11 


u 


-  ■  ■, 


I  Si 


H 


I!  W". 


i\ 


m  h 


■     i 


'!  '  i 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE    WASHINGTON  -  CLINTON    RACE 

The  lonji^ed-for  move  had  at  last  come.  Sir 
Henry  Clinton,  now  the  commander-in-chief  of  the 
British  forces  in  America,  had  found  it  necessary 
to  evacuate  Piiiladelphia ;  and  without  any  delay 
Washin<,non  had  entered  and  taken  possession  of 
the  city.  This  occurred  on  June  i8th.  1778.  Now 
life  was  cpiite  different  for  the  loyal  Continentals 
that  had  sufifercd  so  long  at  Valley  Forge  with  their 
great  commander.  Of  course  they  did  not,  as  the 
British  ofificers  had  done,  develop  gout  whilst  the 
lank  and  file  hecanie  plump  and  short  of  wind.  It 
was  far  different  with  the  .American  soldiers;  Wash- 
ington saw  to  that.  They  hoth  eat  and  slept  well, 
but  not  luxuriously.  They  had  lots  of  time,  for  the 
moment,  but  the  officers  saw  to  it  that  there  was 
no  time  to  spare.  The  soldiers  were  drilled  and 
exercised  as  rigorously  as  ever,  and  they  had  al- 
ways to  be  prepared  to  march  from  the  city  at  a 
moment's  notice.     Washington  watched  the  British 

254 


!mm^Si^^^^^^^^ksmi^mM-%%Wi  mri^.::^:i::mdmmA'  m^ 


THE   WASHINGTON  -  CLINTON  RACE  255 

cammaiuler  as  an  eagle  watclied  its  intended  prey. 
Move  the  British  must,  and  that  before  very  long. 
I  he  American  army  waited.  News  kept  ever  ar- 
riving that  the  French  fleet  was  nearing  the  coast, 
tliat  it  would  arrive  any  day.  But  the  news  seemed 
to  travel  much  faster  than  great  French  ships.  The 
coming  of  the  tleet  would  be  the  most  popular  to])ic 
of  conversation  for  many  days  and  nights,  then  it 
would  die  down  only  to  be  renewed  by  some  fresh 
news,  until  finally  tiie  subject  was  dropped  alto- 
gether and  no  news  could  bring  it  to  life  again. 
When  at  last  in  July  the  fleet  did  arrive  at  Sandy 
Hook,  oidy  to  find  that  it  was  impossilde  to  cross 
the  bar  and  enter  the  harbour,  the  impatience  jf  the 
practical  soldiers  knew  no  bounds. 

The  two  majors,  Wharton  and  Bradfor],  saw 
little  of  each  other  during  the  short  time  tl  at  the 
American  army  occupied  Philadelphia.  They  each 
I  Kid  more  work  than  they  could  attend  to,  and  be- 
sides this,  tlieir  difTerent  regiments  were  quartered 
far  apart.  Colonel  Gibbon,  in  whose  estimation  the 
young  major  was  ever  and  stc.idily  rising,  was  en- 
camped on  the  outskirts  of  the  city  and,  as  it  so  hap- 
pened, not  far  from  the  large  house  of  John  Bral- 
ford.  Esquire.  David  often  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  house  through  the  trees,  and  he  ached  and 
longed  for  the  opportunity  to  call  on  Anne.     But 


256       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


!        i 


.111  II;;'; 


t.i  > 


the  opportunity  was  slow  in  coming.  He  had  to 
oversee  a  dozen  tilings  at  once  and  to  keep  his  eyes 
everywhere  to  see  that  nothing  was  amiss. 

i\t  last  he  saw  a  spare  hour  ahead  of  him.  He 
cleaned  his  clothes  as  host  he  could,  which  is  not 
to  vay  \  ery  nnich,  and  walked  down  the  old,  familiar 
.Nlreel  t(j\\ards  the  Bradhjrd  house.  It  had  heen  a 
long  time  since  he  had  sjx)ken  atiy  fair  words,  and 
he  feared  greatly  tint  tiie  rough  living  of  the  last 
few  months  had  taken  all  his  polish  off.  He  dehated 
with  himself  as  to  how  he  should  present  himself 
before  this  dainty  queen  of  the  rich  mansion. 
Never  before,  as  in  these  trembling  moments,  had 
he  so  felt  her  great  and  overpowering  superiority 
and  his  own  mean  insignificance.  That  she,  this 
beauty  of  society,  had  promised  herself  to  him 
seemed  an  impossibility  and  an  illusion.  Yet  love  is 
stronger  than  fear ;  stronger  even  than  the  fear  of 
the  youth  when  face  to  face  with  his  lady.  David 
moved  to  the  outer  edge  of  the  sidewalk  so  as  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  gates  and  fence  in  front  of 
the  house.  They  looked  wonderfully  imposing,  and 
so  added  to  his  timidity.  As  he  approached  them 
he  reasoned  desperately  with  himself  that  a  soldier 
should  be  unmoved  and  calm  under  all  circum- 
stances. But  all  in  vain.  He  tried  to  picture  his 
beloved  commander,  the  masterly  Washington,  in 


THE   WASHINGTON  -  CUNTON  RACE  257 

his  place.    No  help.    When  he  reached  the  gates  he 
forgot  to  rea.son  at  all.     Without  liKiking  up  at  the 
house,  he  tried  the  latch  of  the  small  side  gate.     It 
refused  to  budge  though  he  put  IxJth  hands  to  it  and 
linally  his  shoulder  to  the  gate.     In  consternation  he 
stepped  back  and  viewed  tiie  house,  and  a  melan- 
choly sight   it   was;    every  blind   was  drawn,   the 
lower  windows  and  the  front  doors  were  boarded 
up  and   the   whole   place   was   deserted   and  dead. 
This  was  a  blow  indeed  for  the  young  lover.     In 
ins  an.xiety  to  see  Anne  it  had  quite  slipped  his  mind 
that    there   was   a    war;    that   the    Bradfords   had 
thrown  in  their  lot  with  the  British  and,  in  conse- 
«|nence.  had  to  flee  with  the  British  when  they  had 
started  for  New  York  overland.     As  he  stood  there 
gazing   up    at    the    lifeless    windows    he    wondered 
where  Anne  was  at  that  moment;    what  hardships 
she  must  be  enduring  in  camp  life,  for  which  .she 
was  so  un.suited.     For  a  moment  the  pity  of  it  all 
overwhelmed    him;     that    so    many    good,    honest 
people,  who  aided  neither  one  .^ide  nor  the  other, 
but  only  wished  to  live  peacefully  and  unmolested, 
V'Hing  people  and  old  people,  should  be  forced  to 
floe  from  their  homes  leaving  all.  and  to  follow  an 
army  for  protection.     .And  those  Tories  that  re- 
mained in  the  city  were  likely  to  be  treated  by  the 
now  victorious  rebel  citizens  even  as  the  rebels  had 


258   A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


'I 


r 


been  treated  by  the  Tf)ries  before.  Not  everyone 
was  as  shrewd  as  old  John  Bradford,  either,  in  keep- 
ing a  hold  on  both  sides,  as  he  did,  in  the  persons 
of  Major  Temple  and  Major  Wharton,  so  that  when 
the  time  came  he  could  cleave  to  the  victorious 
parly.  He  was  fleeing  now,  it  is  true,  but  it  still 
seemed  to  him  that  the  British  were  certain  to  be 
victorious,  and  so  he  continued  to  stronglv  favour 
the  Engli.shman  Temple  for  his  daughter  .\nne. 

When  the  order  came  for  a  general  advance  no 
nne  was  lost.  It  quickly  spread  througliout  the 
arif'v  that  the  British  were  fleeing  for  New  York 
ar  that  they,  the  Continentals,  were  expected  to 
O'  rake  and  deal  them  a  blow  from  which  they 
r  i  never  recover.  A  battle,  a  glorious  full- 
dexl  ba'tie  at  last!  What  magic  had  broken  the 
■>]>  of  the  long,  dead  winter,  and  set  everything 
in  -ticn  c^in,  the  soldiers  wondered;  and  few  of 
thf--i  reaH??ti  that  that  magic  was  none  other  than 
tl        lar-     ^  fleet. 

I  :  e  l(  olumns,  marching  four  abreast,  swung 

out     f  ity  and  along  the  country  roads  at  a 

gr-at  re.  The  transport  wagons  sank  deeply 
e\  ry  ere  and  there  into  the  soft  ground,  and  the 
gun-carriages  fared  none  the  better,  for  the  roads 
were  badly  cut  up  by  the  passing  of  the  Rriti^;!! 
troopers  so  shortly  before.    But  every  obstacle  faded 


^^^mm^M^-kJ^^ 


THE   WASFIINCJTON  -  CLINTON    RACK  259 

away  before  the  great  good  spirits  of  the  rebel 
soldiers.  They  sang  as  they  inarclied,  they  satig  as 
they  put  their  shoulders  to  the  big  gun  wheels. 
This,  chasing  the  enemy,  was  their  idea  of  war,  and 
quite  (hfferent  from  the  torturing  inactivity  which 
they  had  snfifered  at  Valley  I'orge. 

David  was  kept  busy  beside  a  numl)er  of  gun- 
carriages,  directing  their  handhng  over  tlie  rutted 
roads,  even  now  and  then  inttting  a  slioulder  to  a 
wheel  himself.     The  lot  of  Barnabas  was  more  ex- 
cilmg.      Famous  for  his  shrewdness  and  cunning, 
lie  had  been  sent  ahead  to  explore  the  country  and 
spy  out  '  le  huid.     He  galloped   far  in  advance  of 
the  main  body  of  troops  al   the  bead  of  si.xty  dra- 
goons.     Rut    tlmnighout    the    long   afternoon    no 
Britisher  sliowed  him.self,  and  so  Barnabas  walked 
his  horses  and  gave  himself  up  to  tiioiight.     The 
major  had  nf)t  been  idle  since  the  failure  of  liis  plot 
to  betray  Washington  into  the  hands  of  the  Eng- 
lish.    Other  plots  no  less  daring  and  wicked  quickly 
presented  themselves  to  In's  vicious  mind.     At  times 
If  looked  as  though  it  would  be  to  bis  advantage  to 
return  to  his  allegiance  with  the  enemv.     Tie  sa-v 
one  opening  or  two   for  reaping  rich   reward-^  bv 
so  doing,  for  he  knew  how  well  a  mnior.  learned 
m  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  rebel  armv.  would  be 
prized  by  the  enemy;    and  he  felt  certain  that  he 


'if 


?  ■,  (. 


ti  ..^i 


■•■}  lil/ 


bl:  I     !  I 


260      A  SOLDIER  OF   VALLEY   FORGE 

could  take  full  advantage  of  an  opening  when  it  was 
presented  to  him.  But  the  rebel  army  gave  him 
openings  too,  and  it  was  finally  in  the  rebvl  forces 
that  lie  decided  to  work.  A  great  and  far-reaching 
scheme  was  hatching,  and  it  was  in  the  crafty  brain 
of  Barnabas  that  it  was  so  well  nourished.  It  was 
this  scheme  now  that  the  major  was  contemplating, 
and  he  rejoiced  in  himself  to  think  of  what  great 
things  would  be  his  if  all  turned  out  well.  Ever 
since  the  return  of  Major-General  Lee  to  the  Conti- 
nental army  Barnabas  Bradford  had  been  on  inti- 
mate terms  with  him.  He  was  well  aware  of  Lee's 
unfriendly  attitude  towards  the  commander  in-chief, 
and  he  quickly  saw  that  here  was  the  mo.st  fruitful 
soil  to  work  with ;  but  because  these  strained  rela- 
tions between  the  c<mimanders  was  an  open  secret 
throughout  tlie  army,  even  throughout  the  whole 
country,  Fiarnabas  took  care  not  to  be  seen  too  much 
in  Lee's  company.  But  their  plans  had  matured 
nevertheless,  and  now  as  the  major  rode  along  this 
afternoon  at  the  head  of  his  troopers  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  all  was  ready.  They 
were  biding  their  time. 

Presently  the  dreaming  major  stirred  himself 
about  his  duty.  The  day  was  nearing  the  close  and 
he  had  n^t  yet  accomplished  the  work  on  which  he 
had  come.     He  told  off  six  horsemen  to  ride  on 


|i*"i 


.i.J.;..i  . 


:^^iJ!'J^t.;M:^.^  ^- 


THE  WASHINGTON  -  CLINTON  RACE  261 

ahead  to  see  if  there  was  any  very  good  ground  for 
the  army  to  camp  on  that  night.  He  sent  a  horse- 
man back  to  report  all  the  valuable  information, 
which  he  had  invented,  to  the  army  with  orders  to 
return  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  major  busied 
himself  in  riding  over  the  fields  and  woods  on  both 
sides  of  the  road,  trying  to  decide  whether  or  no 
this  part  of  the  country  was  suitable  for  the  night's 
camping-ground  for  the  fifteen  thousand  Americans. 
I'ire-wood  there  was  in  abundance,  also  the  ground 
was  firm  and  moderately  dry,  but  he  failed  to  find 
water  of  any  kind.  At  this  he  became  terribly  an- 
iiuycd.  It  was  already  time  for  the  army  to  be 
encamping  for  the  night:  at  every  rise  and  bend 
in  the  road  the  officers  must  be  expecting  to  find 
t!;e  place  selected  and  the  fires  already  started; 
then  Barnabas  grinned  as  he  thought  how  hot  the 
j)<)or  officers  and  men  must  be  getting  at  never  ar- 
riving: how  they  must  be  cursing  him.  Swinging 
around  in  his  saddle  Major  Bradford  ordered  his 
dragoons  to  get  lively  and  find  water,  if  there  was 
any  in  the  land,  before  the  army  came  up.  Sud- 
denly, as  he  realized  the  awkward  position  into 
which  he  had  got  him.self  by  his  dilly-dallying,  he 
quite  lost  all  patience  and  temper  ;tnd  finned  and 
swore  at  his  already  distant  dragoons,  as  though 
they  were  culpable  for  his  negligence.    After  a  few 


^«i- 


'  If'  I  i-  h 

mm 


Wb       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORCE 

minutes  two  men  rode  in  and  reported  water  in 
a  little  valley  to  the  west,  a  fair  sized  stream. 
Thereupon  he  set  the  soldiers  to  work,  as  they  re- 
turned from  I  heir  search,  doing  all  that  lay  in  their 
power  towards  making  the  spot  chosen  ready  to 
receive  the  army.  Three  dies  were  started  after 
about  twenty  minutes  of  honest  eff<irt  and  from 
these  three  fires  dozens  of  others  were  started. 
Even  Barnabas,  dull  and  blind  as  he  was  to  beauty, 
could  not  help  but  ailmire  the  fairy-like  effect  of 
these  many  brilliant  little  lights  dotting  the  dark 
evening  landscaj)e;  he  noticed  the  beautiful  contrast 
between  the  half  light  of  the  summer  evening  and 
the  sharp  brillianc\  of  the  grow  ing  H.-imes.  Hut  he 
did  not  waste  tiuich  time  in  C(jntemplating  l>eauty; 
his,  he  boasted,  was  the  life  of  activity,  meat's  to 
ends,  was  his  motto.  He  struck  his  horse  a  smart 
blow  with  his  gloved  hatid  and  started  off  over  the 
fields,  giving  directions  to  each  group  <jf  soldiers  as 
he  passed.  He  often  was  at  a  loss  a?  to  how  a  cer- 
tain thing  should  be  done.  l)iit  he  always  managed 
to  conceal  his  want  of  knowledge  by  being  wisely 
vague,  so  that  the  men  would  generally  think  that 
their  major  was  a  very  proficient  man. 

About  dark  the  dragoons  who  had  been  sent  in 
to  report,  returned  and  informed  Barnabas  that  the 
army  was  approaching  and  that  General  Lee  com- 


'>.-tr.:yj>L-ip<fe  >jaiiftmi>i!i-itA»Ji;s  r-'  - 


^'7^  rjy 


TTIE   WASHINGTON -CLINTON   RACE  263 

mancled  Major  Bradford  to  clioose  and  prepare  the 
camping-ground  instantly.  At  this  I'.arnahas  swore 
and  said  that  tlie  camping-ground  had  heen  ready 
for  the  last  hour  and  that  he  was  tired  waiting. 

IVn  minutes  later  the  great  ponderous  machine 
began  crawling  into  camp,  'midst  the  crashing  and 
banging  of  heavy  vehicles,  tlie  snapping  of  whips 
and  the  shouting  of  commands.  The  first  to  arrive 
was  the  advance  under  Lee.  lia  nahas  was  on  hand 
to  salute  the  general  as  he  rode  up  and  the  two  con- 
versed a  moment  in  low  tones,  then  the  major  rode 
ofif  to  his  own  division. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  after  the  ar- 
rival of  the  army  silence  reigned  over  the  whole 
camp.     Not  a  moment  hnd  l)een  lost.    The  outposts 
iiad    been    placed;     the    pi.  kets    stationed;     fifteen 
thousand  dinners  eaten;    and  almost  fifteen  thou- 
sand men  rolled  in  their  blankets  and  gone  to  sleep : 
and  now  a<  the  dark  hours  crept  by  the  sentinels 
paced  mar!  me-like  to  and  fro.    This  highly  trained 
army  was  a  mechrnical  thing  of  minute  precision. 
Tt  marched,  ate  and  slept  in  perfect  obedience  to  law. 
and  no  motion  was  made  that  was  not  necessary. 
A  great  mind  was  the  life  of  it.  a  master  mind  that 
instilled  into  every  man  that  vital  thing,  faith,  with- 
out which  an  army,  no  matter  how  well  drilled  and 
mighty  to  look  upon,  is  a  dead  thing.    Washington 


<^9W7r\ 


>  ^ 


MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION    TEST    CHART 

ANSI  nnd   ISO  TEST  CHART  No    2 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


J;  m 


2.5 
2.2 

ZO 
1.8 


1.4     II  1.6 


^     APPLIED  IM^GE 


264       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

inspired  perfect  confidence  in  every  soldier;  and 
this  confidence,  given  freedom  to  play  tlirough  the 
wonderful  discipline  taught  the  army  by  Von  Steu- 
ben, made  the  army  the  force  it  proved  to  be. 

In  the  morning  the  columns  were  winding  along 
the  roads  by  daybreak.  They  were  being  hard 
driven  by  their  officers  it  is  true,  and  some  few 
soldiers  grumbled.  But  now  they  were  well  fed 
and  could  i-tand  it ;  and  besides  all  these  hardships 
were  leading  to  something;  they  were  seeking  to 
overtake  an  army,  one  as  large  as  their  own.  Day 
by  day  the  excitement  grew,  and  the  grumbling  died 
away.  In  the  place  of  discontent  there  sprang  up 
such  an  eagerness  as  was  seldom  shown  in  a  race 
before,  —  this  was  a  race  between  armies,  and  on 
the  result  seemed  to  hang  the  fate  of  nations.  Every 
soldier  grew  greedy  of  the  moments;  it  seemed  a 
crime  to  be  sleeping  and  the  race  still  in  the  run- 
ning; thev  became  careless  about  their  eating  and 
always  wanted  to  be  off.  Nothing  was  spoken  of 
in  camp  but  the  fleeing  army  ahead  of  them.  New 
York  was  its  goal,  but  it  must  never  arrive  there, 
at  least  not  until  the  Continentals  had  dealt  with  it. 

Barnabas  Bradford  was  not  the  least  excited  of 
those  in  camp,  and  not  the  least  eager  to  overtake 
the  British.  When  travelling  along  the  country 
roads  he  invariably  lost  his  temper  if  a  gun-carnage 


il<f't;'  \MU 


THE  WASHINGTON  -  CLINTON  RACE  265 

stuck  for  an  instant  in  the  mud.     He  urged  the 
soldiers  to  step  more  hvely.     What  was  the  good 
of  them,  he  demanded,  if  they  couldn't  walk  faster 
than  a  lot  of  dressed-up  toy  soldiers  and  a  bunch  of 
old  Tories.    The  men  laughed  at  these  outbursts  of 
the  major's,  and  the  major  always  cursed   them 
roundly    for   doing   so.      Poor   old    Barnabas    was 
nearing  the  end  of  his  dishonourable  career  as  an 
army  otKicer.     His  wicked  schemes  were  at  last  to 
tumble  in  ruins  about  his  ears  and  to  crush  him  in 
their  falling;   and  one  more  man  was  to  learn  the 
difficult  lesson  that  good  is  law  and  that  no  man 
can  work  against  this  law  save  to  his  own  undoing. 
Barnabas,  who  thought  he  was  serving  himself  well 
and   accumulating   happiness   by    sacrificing   other 
men,  was  more  desperately  unhappy  than  any  man 
he  sacrificed.     Now  as  he  rode  beside  a  big  gun- 
carriage,  which,  by  the  way,  worried  him  dread- 
fully by  its  thumping  and  banging,  he  gloated  over 
the  prospects  of  a  successful  outcome  to  his  plot 
and  all  the  glorious  life  of  ease  which  it  would  mean 
for  him.     But  in  the  midst  of  these  enjovments  the 
chance  of  failure  would  often  thrust  itself  up  before? 
his  eyes,  and  he  could  not  reason  it  away.    At  these 
moments  the  sensuous  expression  of  pleasure  would 
fade  from  his  face,  lea\-ing  it  hard  and  dead  like 
ashes ;  and  he  would  seek  relief  for  himself  by  turn- 


,llf 


ii 


y  ■- 


H  i  ! 


'.^t: 


266       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

ing  his  attentions  to  the  toiHng  men  beside  him  and 
cursing  them  into  greater  activity. 

Thus  it  went  on,  tlie  excitement  growing  apace 
as  they  neared  the  hostile  army.  Scouting  parties 
were  sent  ahead  each  day  and  these  reported  the 
British  to  be  moving  slowly,  greatly  encumbered, 
but  a  few  miles  away.  The  American  army  was 
wrapped  in  intense  expectancy.  Each  morning 
when  the  men  arose  they  thought  this  day  would 
surely  see  the  close  of  the  great  drama.  But  the 
close  did  not  come  as  quickly  as  they  hoped  it  would. 
The  British  did  n(jt  intend  to  be  overtaken  in  any 
unfavourable  positicMi.  and  so  the  ponderous  red 
serpent  crawled  on  day  after  day,  as  fast  as  it  could 
go  for  New  York,  while  the  long,  dim-hued  serpent 
crawled  after  it. 

They  crawled  and  crawled,  and  long,  hot  day 
followed  long,  hot  day  until,  after  a  week  or  so  of 
this,  the  gray  serpent  sleeping  less  at  night  and 
crawling  more,  finally  overtook  its  enemy.  It  was 
on  the  morning  of  June  28th  that  the  American 
army  came  up  to  the  British  army  at  Monmouth 
Court-House  and  prepared  for  battle. 


CHAPTER    XVI 


THE   DAY   AT    MONMOUTH 


It  was  not  a  very  pleasant  experience  the  fleeing 
day  after  day  across  country,  trying  to  keep  up 
with  an  army,  as  Mr.  Bradford  and  Anne,  besides 
the  many  other  Tories  of  Philadelphia,  were  doing. 
For  the  young  people  it  was  not  30  bad,  although  it 
happened  that  the  days  between  June  24th  and  28th 
were  excessi\ely  hot,  but  for  the  elderly  folk,  people 
such  as  Mr.  Bradford,  it  was  a  more  serious  thing. 
John  had  been  laid  up  for  several  days  with  gout 
and  other  ailments,  the  results  of  his  unaccustomed 
high  living  whilst  in  the  company  of  Sir  William 
Howe.     And  now  Sir  William  had  gone,  and  left 
his  guests  skepy  and  sore,  to  dance  their  tired  bones 
out  over  the  hills  after  a  fleeing  army.    John  grum- 
bled and  fretted  through  the  long  hot  day  from  early 
morning  until  late  night.    He  had  left  his  fine  house 
behind  to  be  abused  by  the  rebels;   he  had  left  his 
fine  furniture  and  dishes,  in  fact,  all  his  possessions, 
except  the  few  things  such  as  his  silver  and  jewelry, 
which  he  had  been  able  to  stufif  into  his  coach.    Tem- 

267 


.(>  • 


l'  I    I 


H      I 


268       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

pie  drove  in  the  coach  with  Anne  and  her  father 
every  day,  and  many  were  tlie  long  arguments  be- 
tween the  Tory  merchant  and  the  English  officer 
concerning  the  war. 

"  What  are  we  running  away  for?  "  John  would 
demand,  thumping  his  fist  in  every  direction. 
"  What  are  we  running  away  for,  I  say  ?  Are  we 
beaten?  Can't  all  you  drcssed-up  Englishmen  hold 
a  bunch  of  farmers  in  check  ?  God,  man !  here  we 
are,  scuttling  across  the  country  as  though  the  very 
devil  were  after  us.  The  whole  British  army  can't 
even  protect  a  man  and  his  home."  Then,  after  he 
had  gotten  over  the  worst  of  his  rage,  he  w^ould 
often  end  by  saying,  "  Anne.  girl,  if  we  had  put  our 
trust  in  the  farmers  we'd  be  all  right  now." 

Temple  would  always  take  these  outbreaks  very 
meeklv,  merely  trying  to  explain  to  Mr.  Bradford 
that  they  were  not  fleeing  at  all.  but  were  simply 
travelling  to  New^  York,  where  they  would  be  much 
better  off  than  in  Philadelphia.  If  the  rebels  came 
after  them,  why  that  was  the  rebels'  own  affair  and 
not  theirs.  It  was  Temple's  opinion  that  the  Rag- 
Tag  army  was  making  a  clever  move.  It  was 
making  the  world  think  that  they  were  chasing  the 
British.  He  thought  they  wouk'  take  care  not  to 
come  too  near  the  British,  though. 

Temple,  in  turn,  became  annoyed  when  Anne  ex- 


■i  i 


THE  DAY  AT  MONMOUTH 


269 


pressed  her  doubts  as  to  this  last  thought  of  his. 
Anne  fcU  quite  sure  that  this  Rag-Tag  army  meant 
business  and  would  attack  the  moment  they  came 
up  witli  them. 

On  the  evening  of  the  27th,  after  a  particularly 
long  and  rough  day's  journey,  they  arrived  at  Mon- 
mouth Court-House.  Here  they  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  find  a  small  deserted  farm-house,  which  they 
occupied  before  any  other  people  came  up.  Temple 
put  a  minute's  work  on  it  and  cleared  it  up  a  bit, 
then  he  left  Mr.  Bradford  and  Anne  in  the  care  of 
their  old  coachman  and  went  to  take  up  his  duty 
in  the  army. 

That  night  proved  to  be  a  most  wretched  one  for 
everybody.     The  heat  grew  more  and  more  oppres- 
sive, and,  to  add  to  this,  the  rumour  reached  the 
ears  of  the  Tories  that  the  rebel  army  was  catching 
up.  and  would,  in  all  probability,  overtake  them  be- 
fore morning.     With  such  a  possibility  as  this  on 
their  minds  it  is  small  wonder  they  could  not  sleep. 
In  the  morning  their  fears  w^ere  found  to  be  well 
grounded.     Whilst  the  British  slept  the  Americans 
had  marched.    So  the  servants  of  the  King  did  not 
continue  on  their  way  that  day  towards  New  York. 
Instead,    they   threw   up   rough    earth-works,    dug 
deeper  trenches,  and  marshalled  their  lines  for  bat- 
tle.    Nor  did  the  rebels  keep  the  British  soldiers 


J 


M 


t    r 


III'' 

!    1. 

u 

1 

't: 

I;     1 

■A',  i 

270       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

waiting  long  at  their  posts.  They  arrived  on  the 
scene  at  a  very  creditable  hour  in  the  morning  and 
attacked  immediately.  This  attack,  made  by  the 
American  advance,  was  led  by  General  Charles  Lee. 
But  this  is  ahead  of  the  story. 

When  at  daybreak  the  good  citizens  of  Philadel- 
phia, who  were  counting  on  the  British  army  for 
protection  against  their  enemies,  spied  the  red- 
coated  soldiers  strenuously  at  work,  erecting  barri- 
cades, instead  of  marching  on  their  way  to  New 
York,  they  were  sore  troubled.  Were  they  then 
destined  to  see  the  horrors  of  war,  these  women 
and  children? 

In  the  little  farm-house  on  the  hill  the  fears  of 
war  as  yet  played  no  part.  Her  father  having  spent 
a  bad  night,  Anne  was  kept  too  busy  waiting  on  him 
to  think  of  anything  else.  Perhaps  at  times  she  took 
a  moment  to  wonder  whether  or  no  David  Wharton 
was  with  the  rebel  forces  coming  up  or  not.  She 
was  bathing  her  father's  forehead  in  a  small  room 
up-stairs  when  Temjile  called  up  to  her  from  the 
yard  in  front.  Anne  ran  to  the  window,  and'  the 
major  explained  to  her  that  the  enemy  was  on  them 
and  would  attack  immediately.  He  told  her  he  had 
come  eitlier  to  take  her  and  Mr.  Bradford  away  tc 
a  safer  place  within  the  lines,  or  to  stay  with  therr 
and  protect  them  himself. 


THE  DAY  AT  MONMOUTH 


271 


But  Anne  would  not  hear  of  either  proposal. 
She  insisted  that  they  were  quite  safe  where  they 
were,  but  that  his  presence  would  betray  them  to 
the  Tories,  or,  at  least,  make  them  more  conspicu- 
ous. But  the  major  was  obstinate,  and  it  was  not 
untd  Anne  had  shown  herself  capable  of  becoming 
very  stern  and  authoritative  did  he  finally  consent 
to  even  put  himself  out  of  sight  within  the 
house. 

Hardly  had  the  English  officer  disappeared  be- 
hind the  door  when  a  voice  called  "  Halt !  "  some- 
wheres  close  by.  Anne  was  standing  in  the  garden 
at  the  time.  Startled,  she  peered  down  through  the 
little  grove  of  trees  in  front  of  her.  She  could  see 
nothing,  but  presently  she  heard  voices,  which 
seemed  to  be  approaching  her  from  the  direction  of 
the  grove.  She  waited  where  she  was,  not  knowing 
what  else  to  do. 

A  man,  an  officer  of  the  Continentals,  apf)eared 
at  the  edge  of  the  trees,  mopping  his  forehead  as 
he  walked.  He  glanced  up  and  caught  sight  of  the 
girl  standing  near  the  house.  Without  saluting  her 
in  any  way.  but  continuing  to  mop  his  forehead, 
he  blurted  out. 

"  My  God,  Miss,  what  a  perfect  hell  of  a  day 
for  heat!" 

Then  staring  rudely  into  the  girl's  face  the  man 


(p 


I 


M 


;  .1  li ' 

m 


jt 


■it' I 


HH  • 


II.' 

'Il  . 

IX,  I     , 

li:  1' 


|^i;lfi:;|ii 


1 1:  ^  ^  ( 


oi 


It 


! 

< 

r 


if 


:.  ! 


27«       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

recognized  her.     "What!  —  why,  it's  Anne!"  he 
cried. 

Nt)t  until  that  moment  had  Anne  reahzed  that  the 
rebel  officer  was  liarnahas. 

"  What  brings  you,  of  all  people,  to  this,  of  all 
places?"  he  demanded. 

"  We  were  following  the  King's  army  to  New 
York,  as  many  Loyalists  are,  and  my  father  and  I 
stopped  here  all  night,"  Anne  replied  rather  timidly. 
Her  brother  looked  very  fierce  and  mighty  in  his 
dusty  uniform  of  an  officer  of  the  Massachusetts 
Line.  She  wondered  if  she  and  her  father  were 
safer  or  in  greater  danger  by  the  presence  of  Barna- 
bas. At  that  moment  heavy  firing  broke  out  in  the 
valley  below  them.  Barnabas  rushed  anxiously  and 
peered  over  the  l<nv  wall  that  skirted  a  portion  of 
the  garden.  Then  he  turned  and  called  to  one  of 
his  soldiers,  in  the  little  grove,  to  run  and  find  out 
if  that  was  the  attack  of  General  Lee's  advance 
troop.  Barnabas  seemed  very  anxious  and  nervnns. 
He  fidgeted  with  his  sword-hilt;  swore  roundly  at 
apparently  nothing;  and  finally  in  his  impatience 
that  his  messenger  did  not  arrive,  took  to  striding 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house. 

Anne  dared  not  re-enter  the  house  lest  Barnabas 
should  follow  her  and  find  the  F.nglish  officer.  So 
she  stood  where  she  had  been  standing  when  her 


THE  DAY  AT   MONMOUTH 


273 


brother  had  arrived  and  watched  him.  Even  this 
harmless  act  oi  liis  sister's  appeared  to  annoy 
Barnabas,  lie  jerked  up  his  head  every  now  and 
tlien  and  scowled  at  her,  and  at  last  he  roared  out, 
"  Well,  what  are  yuu  looking  at  me  for?  " 

Anne  looked  surprised  and  indignant,  as  though 
she  had  not  been  aware  of  his  presence  at  all,  and 
immediately  turned  her  eyes  to  the  scrutiny  of 
something  else.  But  Barnabas  now  took  his  turn 
in  staring  at  her.  After  a  few  moments  of  this  he 
came  over  to  her,  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  the 
messenger-soldier  ran  up,  saluted,  and  said  that 
'  ieneral  Lee  had  attacked. 

At  this  information  Barnabas  moistened  his  lips, 
which  had  become  very  dry.  swallowed,  and  stared 
vacantly  ahead  of  him  over  Anne's  head.  He  re- 
called himself  with  a  jerk,  grabbed  Anne  by  the  arm 
fiercely,  and  in  his  excitement  fairly  hissed  out  his 
words  as  he  talked  to  her. 

"  Look  'ed  here.  Anne,  I've  got  something  more 
for  you  to  do.  Listen  to  me.  Are  you  listening?  " 
he  raised  his  voice  inconsciously.  "I  know  all 
about  }onr  betraying  us  at  the  last  moment  uhen 
we  tried  tn  take  Washington  at  Valley  Forge. 
Never  mind  how  I  know,  but  listen.  I'll  let  you  off 
for  that,  don't  be  afraid  of  me,  for  I  won't  touch 
you  for  that,  but  I've  got  something  else  that  only 


274       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALl.KV   FORCJE 


'•i  ^(  ! 


I-  '.i 


f  >  I  ■' 


f '  t  '  J 


InH'fP 


.j!,.; 


.it- 


■,  s 


you  can  help  me  in:  only  you,  do  you  hear?  and, 
—  O  (iod!  Anne,  if  you  fail  me  again!  Hut  there! 
it's  only  this:  (ieneral  Lee  is  attacking  over  in  the 
valley.  In  a  few  minutes  hcMl  sound  the  retreat 
and  his  men  will  turn  hack  and  tiee  in  panic  right 
through  the  rehel  army,  hreaking  their  formation. 
You  get  word  to  Clinton.  I  don't  care  how  or  hy 
whom,  that  he  can  send  any  force  he  likes  by  here, 
bv  this  hill,  which  we've  ff)rtificd.  and  he'll  not  he 
molested.  That's  all.  He  has  been  in  communica- 
tion with  T.ee  and  will  understand.  Will  you  do 
this.  Anne?  " 

Barnabas  glared  down  closely  into  her  eyes,  and 
dug  his  fingers  deeper  into  her  soft  arm. 

"Get  word  to  Temple,  if  you  like;  he  can  in- 
form Clititon." 

.\nne  had  hardly  understood  what  he  was  saying 
all  this  time,  she  was  so  startled  by  his  behaviour. 
Before  she  could  answer  him.  Barnabas  said,  "  If 
you  refuse.  I'll  have.  —  the  old  man's  in  that  house, 
isn't  he?  Well,  I'll  have  him  taken  prisoner  by  the 
men  over  there,  and  God  knows  what  they'll  do  to 
im. 

"  No.  no.  I'll  go."  Anne  was  thinking  swiftly 
now.  Temple  must  know  nothing,  she  decided : 
therefore  Barnabas  must  not  enter  the  house  and 
find  him  there.    She  cared  not  a  snr.p  for  the  cause 


TTIK  DAY  AT   MONMOrTH  275 

of  the  British,  Iicr  whole  heart  had  long  ago  gone 
over  to  the  rebels;  ami  the  reason  is  not  far  to 
Sick.  \o,  she  decided,  Temple  must  know  nothing, 
iKjr  Sir  Henry  Clinton  either.  A  plot  to  ruin  the 
Continental  army  had  been  shown  her;  and  she 
decided  that  there  was  but  one  thing  for  her  to  do. 
She  must  give  warning. 

As  Barnabas.  aft(  r  warning  her  to  make  all  pos- 
sible speed,  had  started  back  for  the  grove,  Anne 
felt  .safer  about  entering  the  house.  Ccjusequently 
she  rushed  in  to  find  the  cloak  which  she  had  left 
up-stairs  in  the  room  uhcre  Mr.  Bradford  was  rest- 
ing. She  had  forgotten  about  Temple,  and  so  was 
greatly  surpri.sed  and  disturbed  at  finding  him  there 
in  the  room  talking  with  her  father. 

Both  men  started  speaking  to  her  at  the  same 
time,  and  both  were  e.xcited.  The  younger  man, 
however,  gave  way.  and  Mr.  Bradford  ex- 
claimed, 

"  We  heard  him,  .\nne.  every  word  he  said.  The 
major  will  go;  is  going  instantly.  What  are  you 
taking  your  cloak  for  ?  " 

Temple  ru.shed  over  to  stop  her  from  leaving  the 
room. 

"  Anne."  he  cried,  "  don't  think  of  it.  I  know 
where  the  general  is  and  will  go  straight  to  him. 
Leave  it  all  to  mc." 


Pi 
f 


876       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 


1 ; ;. ; 


5  rii  ■! 


I  tiirsi 


!!■ 


»1       ! 


At  this  Anne  gave  in;  that  is,  she  decided  she 
must  wait  until  after  Temple  had  gone.  She 
dropped  her  cloak  back  on  to  the  chair  and  said, 
"  Well,  go  instantly.     Go  now.'' 

She  was  Hushed  and  felt  mean  and  ashamed  of 
herself  at  that  moment.  She  was  conscious  that 
Temple  nust  just  now  have  learned  that  it  was  she 
who  had  betrayed  their  secret  that  night:  the  be- 
trayal that  had  resulted  in  their  defeat  at  Valley 
Forge.  Also  she  was  conscious  that  even  at  this 
moment  she  was  trying  to  betray  them  again.  She 
was  afraid  thai  the  Englishman  would  stop  now, 
and  she  pres.sed  him  to  make  haste.  If  he  \\ere  to 
linger  there  a  minute  he  might  bring  up  that  dread 
subject,  her  work  in  the  X'alley  Forge  failure,  and 
she  was  determined  that  he  should  not.  i  'e  said 
nothing,  but  there  was  more  painful  emotion  ex- 
pressed in  his  eyes,  when  he  looked  at  her  as  he 
went  out,  than  words  could  express.  He  left  the 
house  by  way  of  a  back  window. 

The  moment  thev  were  alone  Mr.  Bradford 
turned  to  .Anne.  "What  does  he  mean,  Anne?" 
he  demanded.  "  What  had  you  to  do  with  Valley 
Forge?  What?  What?  TIow  did  you  betray 
them?  " 

Anne  stood  with  her  back  to  her  father,  looking 
out  of  the  small  paneless  window. 


THE  DAY  AT  MONMOUTH 


277 


"  I  sent  David  Wharton  to  warn  Washington," 

slie  said. 

"  Von  did !  "  roared  John,  sitting  bolt  upright  on 

the  blankets  where  he  had  been  lying.     "  How  did 

you  —  find  cut  that  Washington  was  in  danger? 

.\nne,  I  don't  understand." 

But  Anne  had  no  time  just  then  to  explain  to  her 

father.      She   must   hurry  and   warn    Washington 

again  now,  before  it  was  too  late.    She  merely  said, 

as  she  put  on  her  cloak, 

"  Barnabas  wanted  me  to  help  him  in  his  wicked 

schemes,  and  so  explained  everything  to  me:    just 

as  he  had  done  this  time." 

Mr.  Bradford  was  in  a  quandary.     He  knew  not 

whether  he  should  get  into  a  rage  over  his  daugh- 
ter's actions  or  should  praise  them.  He  was  a  con- 
scientious man,  in  his  way.  and  was  always  horrified 
by  his  son's  wickedness,  but  he  had  not  many  scru- 
ples alxjut  the  way  a  good  end  was  obtained.  That 
was  all  business,  and  anything  short  of  murder 
seemed  to  him  legitimate  in  business  if  a  good  end 
was  to  be  obtained.  Therefore,  as  the  taking  of 
Washington,  by  one  means  or  another,  would  have 
meant  the  ending  of  the  war,  good  business,  he  be- 
gan to  think  that  .Anne  had  done  a  terrible  thing  in 
having  frustrated  the  plans.  But  she  had  no  inten- 
tion of  waiting  for  him  to  work  himself  into  a  pas- 


r. 


278   A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


im 


N'i 


*"'■'  I  J? 


Ill 


,i!: 


«  r 


sion.  She  said  siie  would  return  very  shortly  and 
slipped  from  the  room. 

The  object  of  his  growing  wrath  no  longer  in 
sight  John's  outward  show  of  anger  quickly  died 
away  before  the  fear  which  the  noise  of  the  battle 
inspired  in  him.  But  he  was  very  atigry  with  Anne 
nevertheless,  and  was  strongly  resolved  to  have  it 
out  with  her  the  first  chance  he  got.  Meanwhile  he 
occupied  himself  by  listening  intently  to  the  dread 
sound  of  fighting,  which,  to  his  trembling  ears, 
seemed  to  be  increasing  in  violence,  and  to  be  com- 
ing closer  every  minute.  Presently  he  heard  men 
running  over  the  ground  in  front  of  the  house  close 
under  his  window.  What  if  some  of  these  rebel 
fellows  should  come  up  and  find  him  there,  he  won- 
dered. Fxclamations  of  surprise,  then  of  anger 
broke  out  from  amongst  the  soldiers,  such  as 
"What  are  they  doin'?  Are  they  breaking  up? 
God!  they're  runnin'!  They're  runnin'  away!" 
And  the  old  gentleman,  lying  up  there  on  the  floor 
in  the  little  house,  .shook  with  the  fever  of  excite- 
ment and  of  fear. 

Not  one  minute  after  Anne  had  run  from  the 
house  and  ofif  across  the  young,  spring  fields.  Major 
Wharton  bad  ridden  up  through  the  ,.:rove  in  front 
of  the  house,  followed  hv  a  small  body  of  horse- 
men.    It  was  the  exclamations  of  his  men,  as  they 


f;i 


it^ 


ty 


THE  DAY  AT  MONMOUTH  279 

watched  the  battle  below  them  in  the  valley,  that 
;\Ir.  Bradford  heard. 

Wharton  saw  that  this  hill  was  protected  by  a 
few  small  cannon,  also  he  spied  soldiers  at  work  on 
the  north  slope,  throwing  up  breast-works;    so  he 
decided  his  men  had  more  important  work  to  do 
somewhere  else.    He  was  about  to  order  the  captain 
to  add  h,s  tro<)p  to  the  attack  of  tlie  main  army  on 
tlie  left  wmj^,  which  seemed  to  be  rapidly  weaken- 
"ig.  when,  to  his  horror,  the  American  front  be-an 
to  g,ve  way.    He  stared  for  a  few  moments,  unable 
to  believe  that  the  retreat  of  General  Ue's  advance 
uas  anything  but  a  ruse,  resorted  to  in  the  hopes  of 
breaking  the  British  formation.     But  when  the  re- 
treat turned  into  a  veritable  rout  he  was  no  longer 
undecided  what  to  do.    He  had  a  commanding  view 
of  the  whole  situation  from  where  he  sat  his  horse 
on  the  crest  of  the  hill.     He  saw  where  exactly  a 
company  or  so  of  able  horsemen  thrown  in  on  the 
nistant  could  yet  perhaps  save  the  dav;  so.  pointing 
out  to  the  captain  where  he  was  to  go,  he  sent  the 
horsemen  galloping  down  the  fields. 

The  major  stayed  a  moment  longer  where  he  was 
atid  watched  the  armies  closelv.  Suddenlv  it  flashed 
to  li's  mind  that  perhaps  W'ashington  knew  nothing 
-f  this  defeat.  He  knew  that  Washington  had  en- 
^n.sted  the  attack  to  General  Lee.  and  tliat  the  com- 


280 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 


m 


Hi 


t'C; 


mander-in-chief  had  not  yet  conic  up.  It  Washing- 
ton knew,  he  could  yet  rally  the  broken  army. 
Would  no  one  warn  him?  \\  hat  \  s  Lee  doing  all 
this  time?  The  major  turned  his  i.orse  dbout  and 
started  on  his  mission  to  warn  W  4iington.  But 
at  that  moment  Major  Bradford  appeared  on  the 
green,  coming  from  the  direction  of  the  breast- 
works. 

David  arrested  his  horse. 

"  Does  General  Washington  know  of  General 
Lee's  retreat  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Of  course  he  knows,"  said  Major  Bradford. 
"  I'm  here  to  foitify  this  hill,  to  keep  the  British 
from  cutting  oflf  the  American  retreat." 

"Where's  Lee,  then,  all  this  time?"  David  de- 
manded excitedly. 

"  There  he  is  now.  trying  to  rally  his  broken 
troops."  Barnabas  pointed  to  a  horseman  riding 
furiously  hither  and  thither  amongst  the  fleeing 
men.  "  Guess  he  can't  do  it  though.  The  day  is 
lost  for  us." 

"  Good  God,"  muttered  David,  and  something 
welled  up  within  him  and  choked  further  words. 

"  But  look,  man,"  he  cried,  rousing  himself  to 
the  sudden  dangers  confronting  the  army.  "  they're 
coming  here;  a  strong  force,  coming  to  take  this 
hill.     If  they  take  this  hill  our  whole  army  will  be 


='«i 


THE  DAY  AT  MONxMOUTH 


281 


destroyed.     Quick,  call  up  more  men.     Quick,  I'll 
ride  in  and  get  "em." 

David  drove  his  spurs  into  the  horse,  but  before 
he  could  move  Barnabas  had  seized  his  bridle. 

"  Xo !  "  he  cried  sharply.  '•  I'm  in  command  of 
tills  hill.  You  leave  all  that  to  me.  Don't  you 
meddle." 

"  But,  God,  man !  don't  you  see  them  coming,  the 
size  of  the  force  ?  You  can't  hold  the  hill  against 
them.  Send  for  some  men,  or  you'll  be  swept  from 
here  in  another  minute." 

"You  mind  your  business."  roared  Barnabas, 
furious,  "  or  I'll  put  you  under  arrest.  I'm  in  com- 
mand here  and  will  do  things  my  own  way." 

"  I'll  do  what  I  damn  please,"  answered  David. 
"  Let  go  the  horse." 

Barnabas  did  not  let  go.  In  a  flash  David  had 
slipped  out  of  the  saddle  to  the  ground  and  jumped 
for  him.  Barnabas  dodged  aside,  and  at  the  same 
time  jerked  the  reins  with  all  his  might  and  veiled 
at  the  horse.  The  beast  reared  in  a  panic.'  then 
dashed  off  and  disappeared  amongst  the  trees. 

For  a  moment  David  forgot  him=elf  in  his  fury. 
He  drew  his  sword,  and  Barnabas,  cursing  him  the 
\vliile,  was  forced  to  defend  himself.  He  shouted 
t"  his  men  in  the  trenches,  but  when  he  glanced  in 
tiicir  direction  he  saw  that  the  red-coated  soldiers 


282       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


il.--:] 


m 


II. 


were  already  upon  them,  and  that  they  were  attend- 
ing strictly  to  business.  No  shot  had  been  fired  by 
either  side  in  this  little  attack,  and  if  one  had  looked 
at  all  closely  he  could  have  seen  that  nobody  was 
being  seriously  wounded  either.  The  rebel  soldiers 
in  the  trenches  were  giving  in  everywhere. 

Barnabas  turned  about  while  fighting  so  as  to 
have  his  back  towards  the  trenches,  then  he  started 
running  backward.  David  followed  him  a  few 
paces,  suddenly  stopped,  then  stepped  aside  slipping 
his  sword  into  its  sheath.  And  Major  Bradford 
ran  to  the  trenches  to  make  a  show  of  resistance. 

In  another  minute  the  hill  would  have  been  in  the 
hands  of  the  enemy,  and  the  battle  of  Monmout? 
would  have  gone  down  in  history  as  a  British  vic- 
tory, and  the  great  scheme  of  Barnabas  Bradford 
would  have  yielded  to  its  creator  rich  rewards.  Bui 
it  was  not  to  be.  The  moments  count  everything; 
in  the  winning  of  a  battle  and  here  the  moment; 
were  valued  and  the  battle  won.  Washington  hac 
received  word  in  the  nick  of  time.  He  had  graspec 
the  situation  in  a  flash ;  had  thrown  forward  hi: 
own  forces :  and  sent  out  forces  here  and  there  tc 
ruard  vital  points;  without  literally  a  moment': 
loss  of  time. 

A  strong  force  of  infantry  broke  through  thi 
trees  and  rushed  out  into  the  little  clearing  near  th( 


;i  f 


THE   DAY  AT  MONMOUTH  283 

Iiouse.  A  small  body  of  artillery-men,  drawing 
three  cannon,  followed.  Wharton  shouted  to  them, 
and  pointed  to  where,  in  the  trenches,  Major  Brad- 
ford was  losing  the  day  to  the  British. 

The  captain  quickly  formed  his  men  into  order, 
and  led  the  ch.arge  down  against  the  all-but-victori- 
uus  f:nglish.  David  joined  this  new  force  and 
charged  with  them. 

The  struggle  was  short  but  fierce.     The  English 
soldiers  had  been  given  to  understand  that  they 
xvould  be  allowed  to  take  this  hill  from  the  enemy 
without  any  fighting.    The  rebels,  holding  the  hill, 
had  been  instructed  not  to  fire,  nor  even  to  fight 
hard.     They  had  been  told  by  their  commander. 
Major  Bradford,  ihat  their  position  was  not  worth 
lu)lduig.  that  they  were  to  give  it  up.     And  so  it 
took  the  attacking  .soldiers  some  time  to  realize  that 
they  were  being  seriously  resisted.     When  they  did, 
they  began  to  fight,  but  they  were  outnumbered,  and 
at  a  disadvantage  as  to  position. 

Slowly  and  in  good  order  they  backed  away. 
Cheering,  the  Americans  followed.  The  cannon 
roared  at  the  scarlet  lines  from  out  of  the  grove  at 
"ne  side,  mowing  the  ranks.  Then  the  British 
turned  and  fled. 

The  American  soldiers  started  to  follow  the 
etiomy,  but  their  officers  sternly  ordered  them  back 


^,  . 


,t : 


» 


im 


284       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

to  the  trenches.  There  they  were  set  to  worl 
strengthening  the  breast-works  and  lengthening  th 
trenches  at  one  end.  David  returned  to  the  highe 
spot  of  ground  near  the  house  to  see  how  the  figh 
in  the  valley  was  progressing.  The  noise  whicl 
had  arisen  to  them  as  they  fought  in  the  trenches 
told  him  at  least  that  the  American  army  had  no 
surrendered.  And  now  a  joyful  sight  met  his  gaze 
There  was  General  Washington  himself  leading  th 
troops  into  the  battle ;  the  whole  army  was  former 
and  in  good  order :  all  those  that  had  been  runnini 
away  a  little  while  before  were  now  pushing  fot 
ward  in  good,  unbroken  lines,  inspired  with  ne\ 
confidence  by  their  great  commander. 

Tlie  British  and  .American  batteries  mounte 
along  the  hills  on  both  sides  were  thundering. 

At  such  a  sight  as  this,  the  Continental  arm 
mended  and  strong  again.  Major  Wharton  brol< 
out  into  wild  cheers,  waving  his  naked  sword  abo\ 
his  head. 

"  We  are  saved !  We  are  saved,"  he  shoute( 
"God  bless  you,  Washington!" 

"What  is  it,  David'  Are  we  winning?  01 
tell  me ! " 

David  turned  quickly,  recognizing  Anne's  voic 
and  then  she  was  nmning  towards  him  from  tl 
direction  of  the  little  grove.     Tlis  mind  was  t( 


-« 


THE  DAY  AT  MONMOUTH  285 

occupier!  to  leave  any  room  for  surprise  at  seeing 
lier  or  to  wonder  at  her  being  here  on  this  hill  of 
battle. 

"  WVre  holdine:  them.    We're  holding  them,"  he 
^.nd.     "Look,  come  here,  see!"     He  helped  her 
on  to  the  mound  oi  earth  on  which  he  was  standing 
As  she  looked  into  the  valley  Anne  was  too  im- 
pressed to  utter  a  word.     Here  below  her.  spread 
•Hit  m  all  directions,  lay  two  whole  armies;  and  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  given  an  idea  of 
what  a  battle  meant.     She  was  not  so  far  away 
from  the  fighting  but  that  she  could  distinguish  the 
individual  men ;   she  could  see  them  strike  and  fall ; 
she  saw  met!  smashed  by  the  cannon-balls.     During 
the  first  few  moments  that  she  looked  on,  the  sight 
seemed  so  amazing,  and  even  beautiful,  that  she 
rl.d  not  notice  the  horror  of  it.     But  presently  she 
saw  that,  too,  and  she  was  sickened.     The  beautiful, 
long  lines  of  scarlet,  hid,!  n  every  here  and  there 
by  the  clouds  of  white  smoke;   the  glistening  of  the 
steels  in  the   sun.   as   the  troops  marched   to  the 
front :   the  deafening  crash  of  the  cannon  and  mus- 
kets;   these   thrilled,    but   the   horrors   were   there 
too. 

Anne  turned  from  the  sight,  and  rested  for  a 
moment  on  David's  arm.  Then  she  slowlv  climbed 
down  from  the  mound  of  earth.     But  David  was 


n 


fir: 


";;:! 


J; ) 


I 


286       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORCE 

not  aware  that  she  had  left  him,  so  absorbed  was  h« 
in  the  progress  of  the  battle. 

"  Look,  look,  the  wing  gives  way.  They  run 
Tliey  run!  " 

Out  shot  the  major's  sword  a  second  time,  anc 
up  it  went  over  his  head  as  he  shouted  and  shoutec 
his  hurrahs. 

The  enemy's  right  wing  had  broken ;  then  th( 
British  had  given  way  all  along  the  line.  Thi 
Americans  had  pressed  after  them;  but  the  Britisl 
retreat  was  covered  by  their  guns,  so  the  victoriou 
soldiers  were  forced  to  desist.  Only  at  one  sid< 
where  the  cannon  could  not  play  on  them  did  thi 
enemy  run  and  the  Americans  pursue. 

After  he  had  made  sure  that  the  victory  \va; 
decisive  David  turned  to  find  Anne.  She  was  walk 
ing  slowly  towards  the  house,  her  head  bowed.  Hi 
called  after  her,  but  she  did  not  notice  him,  thei 
he  jumped  down  and  ran  over  to  her. 

"  Anne,"  he  cried.  "  it's  a  complete  victory 
We've  won  everv'where.  Think  of  it,  Anne 
They're  beaten." 

Anne  looked  up  into  his  face  and  smiled  sadly. 

"  Yes.  Davy,  and  I'm  glad,  too.  Rut  to  thin! 
that  perhaps  /  did  it.  —  and  my  own  side!" 

"  What  did  yo?<  do,  Anne?" 

"I  heard  of  the  plot  to  —  to  sell,  to  ruin  you 


^--■a 


THE  DAY  AT  MONMOUTH  287 

cause.  Davy;  tl.e  cause  for  uliicli  I  knew  you  were 
suffermg  so  much.  I  knew  that  General  Lee  would 
retreat  at  the  critical  moment  and  ruin  all.  I 
warned  Washington  in  time." 

At  that  moment  P.arnabas  api)eared.  coming 
towards  them  fnmi  the  direction  of  the  trenches. 
Tlie  left  side  of  his  face  was  covered  with  blood 
from  an  ugly  wound  on  his  forehead.  He  repeatedly 
brushed  his  cheek  with  his  left  hand,  shaking  the 
blood  each  time  impatiently  from  his  fingers  on  to 
tlie  grass. 

''  'Hien  it  is  you  that  have  saved  us,"  cried  David. 
"  You  more  than  anybody  else." 

"How  did    she  :^ave   us?"   demanded   a   harsh 
vf)ice  from  behind. 

They  both  turned  to  see  who  spoke  and  saw  Bai- 
nabas.  who  was  now  quite  clo.^o  to  them,  for  the 
first  time. 

"What  did  she  do?-"  repeated  the  harsh  voice. 
Although  the  voice  came  from  Barnabas  it  did  not 
seem  to  be  his. 

Before  Anne  could  stop  him  David  got  out. 
"  She  warned  Washington  in  time.  She  saved  the 
'lay."  This  second  sentence  was  drowned  by 
Anne's  cry  of  warning  to  David.  Rut  Barnabas 
already  knew  that  the  British  had  been  defeated, 
and  he  had  heard  enough  of  what  David  said. 


;«| 


I 


288       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 

Even  before  David  liad  answered  his  (question 
this  man  coming  towards  them  had  looked  nior 
Hke  a  beast  than  anything  human,  with  the  bloo< 
dripping  from  Iiis  chin.  But  when  Dr.vid  said 
"  She  warned  Washington,"  the  beast  was  suddenl 
transformed  into  a  devil.  On  this  great  scheme  o 
his  with  Lee,  Barnabas  had  trustctl  all.  With  i 
he  knew  that  he  must  stand  or  fall.  It  had  failed 
He  was  ruined,  and  would  soon  be  an  outcast.  I 
had  failed  at  the  moment  when  success  seemed  cer 
tain.  And  who  was  responsible  for  this  disastrou 
turn  of  aiTfairs.'*  When  David  said,  "She  warne 
Washington,"  Barnabas  knew\  He  eyed  her  for  ; 
moment,  then  he  muttered,  "  By  God,  I'm  going  h 
kill  you !  "  and  si)rang  at  Anne. 

David  was  taktti  so  by  surprise,  having  expects 
that  Barnabas  would  be  overjoyed  at  what  his  hall 
sister  had  done,  that  although  he  was  nearer  Ann 
than  Barnabas  was,  he  failed  to  get  to  her  quit 
soon  enough.  Barnabas  grabbed  her  by  the  arn 
threw  her  heavily  to  the  ground,  and  was  just  draw 
ing  his  sword,  when  David  got  hold  of  him. 

Anne,  when  she  saw  Barnabas  rushing  at  het 
had  pluckily  tried  to  defend  herself,  had  attempte 
to  keep  him  off  by  her  outstretched  arms.  But,  a 
we  have  seen,  that  did  little  good.  Barnabas  \va 
about  to  kill  her  where  she  lay  upon  the  grounf: 


Tin:   DAY  AT   MONMll  Til  280 

uhtu  David  seized  liim  by  tiic  neck  \  ith  both  hands 
a.i.I  hurle<l  liini  backwards.  Then  David  bent  d.nvn 
t-  Iiel|)  Anne  to  her  feet,  but  ha<:  to  jump  up  in- 
stantly to  defend  himself,  for  Harnbaas  was  upon 
liiin  witli  drawn  sword.  David  drew  his  sword, 
stan.hiiK'  where  he  was,  to  protect  .Anne.  But  the 
ivA\n  never  occurred,  for.  shouting  and  cheering,  the 
victorious  American  soKhers  came  running  through 
the  grove,  and  across  tlie  greeii  in  front  of  the 
li"tise.  Hundreds  of  others  went  dashing  across 
the  fields,  jumping  the  trenches,  and  disappearing 
down  the  far  side  of  the  hill. 

Harnabas  was  about  to  make  a  wild  attack  on 
Iiis  opponent  wl..  this  shouting  broke  out.  At 
that  he  stoppt-d.  g.anced  about  him  like  a  hunted 
animal,  and  was  on  the  poip^  of  fleeing  when  his 
fury  overcame  his  fear  for  a  moment,  and  he 
stopped. 

He  fairly  screamed  out  an  oath  at  David,  and 
Mn.ick  .so  blindly  that,  had  not  David  lost  his  bal- 
ance at  that  motnent 


\nne's   foot,   where  she   I, 


stepping  backwards  on  to 


ly  upon   the  ground,   he 


C"! 


lid  easily  have  ended  this  man's  career 


with 


ti'nke. 


As  it  was,  Rarnabas  gave  him  no  time  to 
lake  advantage  of  his  blind  recklessness. 

When  the  first  shouting  soldiers  broke  from  the 
•ttle  woods  he  appeared  to  think  thev  were  after 


H 


I 


.  ♦. 


,  I 


n 


{ 

I; 


!■'■ 

I:.. 


i'^ 


hj 


m 


!!!• 


f    I 


a.  I  ('  f 

■..»«(• 
i  iii, 

;   rh. 

w 


t 


?90       A  SOLDIER  OF  ViVLLEY  FORGE 

him.  He  aimed  a  parting  tlmist  at  his  opponent's 
face,  which  David  avoided  in  the  nick  of  time  by 
ducking  his  head  to  one  side,  then,  still  holding  his 
naked  sword  in  his  hand,  he  dashed  away,  springing 
over  a  tumbled  snake-fence  that  was  in  his  path, 
and  making  off  in  the  direction  of  a  forest  about 
a  mile  and  a  half  away. 

The  excited  soldiers  hardly  noticed  the  officer 
running  so  madly  away  from  them  across  the  fields. 
David  hurriedly  lifted  Anne  in  his  arms  and  car- 
ried her  into  tlie  house.  Mr.  Bradford,  who  had 
been  too  frightened  to  leave  the  house  at  all,  but  had 
spent  his  time  in  limping  from  one  window  to  an- 
other anxiously  watching  the  course  of  events,  came 
thumping  down  the  stairs  with  his  cane  to  see  what 
injury  had  been  done  his  daughter. 

David  carried  her  up-stairs,  assuring  the  old 
gentleman  the  while  that  .Anne  was  not  hurt,  but 
needed  a  little  rest.  He  left  father  and  daughter 
in  the  room  together,  and  went  over  to  watch  the 
results  of  the  morning's  battle,  as  tar  as  he  could 
see  them,  from  the  crest  of  the  hill. 


M^' 


CHAPTER    XVII 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO    NEW    YORK 


In  one  way  the  battle  had  brought  relief  to 
the  weary  little  group  of  Tories  that  was  trav- 
elling to  New  Y-^rk  with  the  British  army.  The 
awful  suspense  was  gone.  The  worst  had  hap- 
pened and  was  over  with,  and  now  the  army  was 
moving  ahead  at  an  easier  pace,  with  no  more 
torced  marches  or  night  travelling.  Of  course  the 
s[)ec(i  of  an  army  must  always  be  relatively  slow, 
wlien  travelling  over  bad  roads  with  heavy  lumber- 
ing wagons,  and.  in  this  instance,  it  had  not  been 
at  all  difficult  for  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  to  keep 
within  range  of  the  army's  protection.  But  they 
had  been  allowed  no  rest,  but  always  had  to  be  up 
and  away  in  the  morning;  for  was  not  the  whole 
rebel  army  treading  on  their  heels.  This  haste 
caused  all  the  Tory  ladies  and  gentlemen,  but  John 
Bradford  in  particular,  much  inconvenience.  Of 
nld.  John  had  been  an  early  riser,  and  even  tmtil 
recently  he  had  always  managed  to  be  the  Prst  man 

291 


'( 

t 

i?  i 

1  ^ 

^ 

li 

M. 

1 

V            H 

B 

i 

fflt 

1    1 

1 

I    If- 


r'l. 


Hi  .l;M!,, 


292       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 


£':5l! 


i       ' 


1,^1* 


¥\*' 


at  work  in  tlie  oliice  in  the  morning.  But  since 
he  had  become  a  gentlemai  his  habits  had  neces- 
sarily changed.  All  night  entertainments  at  Sir 
William  Howe's  were  not  conducive  to  early  ris- 
ing; nor  was  th<-  ailment,  which  seemed  to  John 
the  stamp  of  the  aristocrat,  the  gout,  an  asset  to 
one's  money-making  ability.  .\nd  so  John  had 
speedily  Ixxome  addicted  to  the  more  fashionable 
hours  of  rising.  He  greatly  prided  himself  on  his 
adaptability  to  tine  customs  and  manners,  and  he 
held  up  this  adaptability  as  proof  of  the  blue  blood, 
which  he  iuul  always  said  was  coursing  through  his 
veins.  Anne  had  looked  on  to  all  these  changes 
in  her  father  with  both  amusement  and  anxiety. 
But  she  finally  decided  that  these  new  interests 
could  do  him  no  harm.  She  had  long  prayed  that 
some  diversion  might  come  into  his  life,  and  turn 
Ir's  attention  from  his  sordid  piling  up  of  w'ealth. 
The  diversion  had  come  in  the  form  of  society. 
.And  .Anne  often  reminded  her  father,  when  he  was 
tormenting  himsolf  with  business  worries,  that  it 
showed  a  lack  of  good  breeding  to  be  thinking  of 
nothing  bm  money.  John  would  scold  her  for  these 
so-called  interferences,  but  would  generally  turn 
his  thoughts  on  to  more  genteel  subjects. 

.Amongst   those  travelling   with    the  army   were 
the  many  stanch  Loyalists  who,  although  they  had 


nlv 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEW  YORK       293 

frequently  dined  uith  Sir  William,  had  yet  taken 
time  to  work  hard  for  the  cause  they  had  chosen. 
Tiicy  were  now  sufiferini,^  loyally  for  their   King-, 
and  not  one  of  them  considered  his  lot  too  difficu.  . 
Indeed,  they  even  managed  to  have  a  great  show 
of  gaiety.     Their  coaches  were  strung  out  in  a  long 
line  down  the  road,  like  a  street  of  houses,  and  the 
good  people  went  from  one  coach  to  another  pay- 
ing calls.     And  not  only  these  ladies  and  gentle- 
;:icn,  but  certain  English  officers,  would  pay  their 
respects  to  the  little  colony  each  day.     Needless  to 
say,  there  was  no  banqueting  or  high  jinks  now. 
The  fare  was  of  the  roughest,  and  the  time  taken 
to  eat  it  not  over  long.     But  hearty  songs  around 
the  blazing  fires  at  night  proved  to  be  more  charm- 
ing than   the  dancing  had   been   in   the   reception- 
rooms  of  Philadelphia;    and  the  little  informal  vis- 
its paid  from  coach  to  coach  proved  tc^  be  far  more 
entertaining  than  the  formal  calls  in  the  city. 

The  Bradford  coach  was  very  popular,  and  often 
"f  an  afternoon  the  spare  seat  would  be  taken  up 
by  a  couple  of  young  gentlemen,  whilst  other  youths 
perched  upon  tlie  two  large  steps  at  the  side.  John 
would  be  alw  lys  very  glad  of  the  company  of  these 
young  aristocrats  and  would  converse  with  them 
on  all  the  topics  calculated  to  interest  the  fashion- 
ables.    Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  old  gentleman 


I 


li 


I'i^ 


f  :■  :| 


HJ 


lu'li 


l»   Mi 


l.t 


( 


294       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

never  wondered  at  his  popularity  with  these  men, 
attributing-  it,  no  doubt,  to  his  powers  of  conversa- 
tion. Of  course  the  beautiful  Anne  was  at  his  side. 
Thus  most  of  the  afternoons  were  passed;  once  in 
a  while  John's  much  prized  acquaintances,  such  as 
a  Bliss  or  an  Allen,  dropping,'-  in  to  see  liow  he  wa.« 
faring.  .Major  Temple  continued  liis  devotion  day 
after  day.  but  if  he  did  not  ^et  to  his  fair  one'.s 
side  at  an  early  hour,  as  often  happened,  he  wcnUd 
arrive  only  to  find  that  the  young  cocks  had  got 
there  before  him.  and  that  no  place  was  left  in  the 
coach.  On  these  occasions  he  would  take  up  his 
place  dutifully  alongside,  sitting  his  horse  -ry 
sti%  to  be  sure,  and  his  ill-humour  not  impr(.\-ed 
by  the  suggestive  grins  with  which  the  youths 
would  greet  him  whenever  he  happened  to  look 
towards  the  coach.  Poor  Anne  was  not  very  happy. 
She  joined  in  the  conversation  as  much  as  polite- 
ness demanded,  but  no  more.  For  the  greater  part 
of  the  time  she  sat  staring  out  of  the  window  into 
space.  But  If  that  window  through  which  she 
stared  happened  to  be  the  same  window  at  which 
Major  Temple  was  riding,  this  innocent  occupation 
caused  the  yrnmg  gentlemen  many  misgivings. 
Anne's  mind,  however,  was  far  from  the  handsome 
English  otTicer.  .She  was  thinking  of  David  Whar- 
ton ;   she  was  wondering  how  long  this  ghastly  war 


n.ii 


! 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEW  YORK       295 

would  continue,  he  struggling  in  one  part  of  the 
countr\,  and  she  llceing  into  another.     And  her 
heart    ached   every  minute   of   the   day;     for   was 
ii-l  she  a  rebel  in  all  but  the  liame?     Had  not  she 
saved  the  rebel  cause,  perhaps  two  different  times, 
and  defeated  the  cause  of  the  Tories?     And  here 
slie  was  fed  and  guai.led  in  the  midst  of  the  people 
slie  had  thwarted.     How  cruel,  she  thought,  were 
the  customs  and  laws  that  denied  to  a  woman  the 
right  to  openly  w^ork  and  suffer,  as  the  soldiers  did, 
for  the  cause  that  she  loved,  but  rather  forced  hers 
to  be  the  hidden  hand,  and  her  doings  to  be  in  se- 
cret.    At  times  she  had  a  mad  impulse  to  stand  up 
and  cry  aloud  to  the  whole  army  that  she  was  a 
rebel  and  had  worked  as  a  rebel  against  them.    For 
lier,  the  days  were  long  and  monotonous  to  the 
extreme.     She  felt  too  unhappy  to  be  interested  in 
iming  visits  to  the  other  people;    she  sat  still  in 
her  seat  until  tired,  then  got  out  and  walked  until 
tired,  and  so  on  throughout  the  day. 

But  one  fine  morning  diversion  came,  and  it  w'as 
the  ever  faithful  major  that  br.  ;,ght  it.  Coming 
to  the  coach  door,  he  tapped  on  the  panels,  and 
'•ailed  to  Anne  in  a  whisper,  for  fear  of  waking 
Mr.  Bradford,  to  come  out  and  see  what  he  had. 
Anne  slipped  out  .softly  and  closed  the  dor.r  behind 
'i^r.     What  Temple  had  brought  was  a  fine  horse 


T 


f: !.  I- 


296       A  SOLDIER  OF  VATJ.EY  FORGE 


:k  i:  ■■! 


!     h 


■\,  M« 


mu 


saddled  and  bridled.  The  day  was  cool  and  lovel 
and  never  did  Anne  I'eel  more  in  the  spirit  for 
ride  over  fields  and  hills,  throujT^h  woods  an 
streams.  She  did  not  keep  Temple  long  in  doul 
cis  to  the  way  she  felt  towards  his  snrprise.  / 
last  a  break  in  the  long  monotony  had  come.  SI 
wonld  ride;  and  ride  far  and  fast.  Fairly  ovc 
come  with  joy  at  the  idea  she  sprang  into  the  sac 
die  of  the  splendid  animal  which  the  major  \\i 
holding  for  her.  Then  she  bethought  herself  an 
slipped  as  quickly  out  f)f  the  saddle  to  the  grounc 
and  ran  to  the  coach  and  disappeared  within.  Ten 
pie  heard  voices  for  a  few  minutes,  then  Anr 
reappeared,  sliot  a  glance  of  triumph  at  Templi 
and  stepped  up  to  the  horse.  A  voice  continue 
talking  quietly  to  her  as  though  she  were  still  i 
the  coach.  The  words  were  hardly  audible  to  tli 
young  peoi)le  without,  Init  presently  John  Bradfor 
poked  his  head  out  around  the  edge  of  the  doo 
night-cap  and  all,  and  raising  his  voice  a  few  note 
said  to  Anne. 

"  But,  Anne,  where  are  you  going?  Remembe 
you  can't  leave  the  army  twenty  feet,  or  you'll  b 
shot  by  some  of  those  rebels.  Do  you  hear,  major 
You  won't  take  her  away.     What?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  sir.  Have  no  fear.  We'll  have  1ni 
of  room  to  ride  within  the  limits  of  the  army. 


'jiif   f!:i:' 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEW  YORK       <e97 

giiess  we   stretch   a  good  many  miles  along  tiiis 
road." 

Anne  smiled  most  reassuringly  to  her  father  and 
touched  the  whip  to  the  horse.  But  even  this 
lovely  smile,  which  had  seemed  to  Temple  so  heav- 
enly, did  not  satisfy  the  old  gentleman,  who  con- 
tinned  to  grumble.  But  perhaps  he  knew  Anne  bet- 
ter than  Major  Temple  did. 

And  so  they  set  out  upon  their  ride  very  early 
in  the  n:  )rning,  at  least  an  hour  before  the  army 
had  to  march.     The  road  was  comparatively  clear 
for   the   greater  part   of  the   way   to   the  outpost 
Anne  led  the  way  at  a  good  canter;   slowing  down 
to  a  trot  only  when  she  was  forced  to  the  side  of  the 
road  on   account   of  the  broad   gim-carriages   and 
transport  wagons.     Xever  had  Anne  felt  so  strong 
and  free  as  she  felt  this  summer  morning,  riding 
through  the  open  country.     The  army  had  camped 
three  nights  in  a  particularly  pretty  spot  in  a  short 
valley  and  lay  stretched  out  right  up  over  the  crest 
of  the  two  hills  to  the  front  and  back.     Now  as 
Anne  reached  the  summit  of  the  little  hill  in  front, 
and  looked  down  into  the  beautiful  country  spread 
ui.t  below  her.  a  longing  gripped  her  to  be  gallop- 
ing over  those  meadows,  as  careless  as  the  wind. 
ne  narrow,  pent-up  life  she  had  been  living  the 
la^t  weeks  arose  before  her  eyes.     That  she,  Anne 


i 


I 


it,  ^'i^ 


H  !' 


iVil^ 


m 


298       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORC.E 

Bradford,  used  all  her  life  to  the  broadest  freedon 
should  be  cooikhI  up  now,  and  forced  to  ride  di 
mally,  day  after  day,  like  an  invalid,  glued  to  a 
army,  afraid  to  leave  its  side,  was  too  much  to  I 
endured.  She  sat  her  horse  motionless  a  few  nii 
ments,  staring-  out  over  the  country  spread  like 
map  before  her. 

"  George,"  she  cried,  turning  to  him  enthusia 
ticallv,  "  let's  iro  out  there ;  w  ay  out  there."  SI 
pointed  with  her  whip  towards  a  distant  \voo( 
and  gleaming  river. 

"  But,  dear  .\nne,  the  army  ends  right  here 
front  of  us.     There  is  the  last  outpost  right  dow 
the  hill  there." 

r^easoning  was  to  count  little  now.  Anne  \\: 
thrown  off  her  maturer  spirit,  and  had  becoti 
again  the  care-free  child  of  some  years  ago. 

"  Oh,  but  what  do  wc  care  about  the  army?  Let 
go."  She  spoke  in  tones  half-pleading,  half  con 
manding. 

But  Major  Tem])le  knew  the  absurdity  of  ; 
English  ofiricer,  clad  in  his  scarlet  uniform,  tryii 
to  take  a  pleasure  ride  through  the  enemy's  cou 
try,  especially  when  that  country  was  literally  fi 
of  the  enemy.  He  took  great  pains  to  let  .An 
know  that  he  was  not  afraid,  bnt  was  merely  tr 
ing  to  be  reasonable.     He  explained  that  all  tho 


s; 


!    Vi 


in 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEW  YORK       299 

farms,  that  they  saw  dotted  about  the  country,  were 
the  homes  of  the  rebels,  and  that  a  bright  red  coat 
would  be  a  very  conspicuous  thing  riding  tliroug!i 
the  country,  and  iJerhaps  calculated  to  arouse  inter- 
est in  all  rebel  gentlemen  that  happened  to  spy  it. 

But  Anne  would  have  none  of  it.  His  reasons 
ucre  all  very  well,  she  said  (she  really  had  not 
listened  to  his  reasons  at  all),  but  still  she  did  not 
see  anything  to  prevent  her  taking  a  short  gallop 
down  to  the  river  and  back;  he  could  wait  here 
for  her,  she  cried,  as  she  started  the  horse  ofif  in 
the  direction  of  freedom. 

Temple  smiled  as  she  drew  on  the  reins.  Well, 
lie  tlmught,  at  least  she'll  see  that  I  am  not  afraid', 
we  can  afiFord  to  be  fools  and  feed  our  vanity  some- 
times in  our  lives.  He  enjoyed  the  prospect  of  gal- 
l-ping under  the  very  noses  of  the  rebels  by  the 
side  of  his  lady.  He  knew  that  she  would  be  safe 
from  any  attack. 

They  rode  down  the  hill,  passing  through  the 
outpost  camp.  The  soldiers  were  eatmg  thei- 
breakfast  when  the  major  and  his  lady  went  by. 
The  sentinel  saluted,  and  stepped  aside  to  let  the 
nders  pass.  Temple  looked  very  stern  and  formal. 
as  though  he  were  doing  nothing  out  of  the  way 
in  taking  a  little  pleasure  excursion  ir/n  the  enemy's 
country,  but  he  felt  his  face  growing  hot,  for  he 


I 


i  'I- 


m'] 


Ifir.t  111  . , , 


i 


300       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 


'..  •'( 


!   ! 


t 


llui. 


knew  that  the  soldiers  were  staring  after  tliem,  ar 
wondering  what  in  tlie  world  this  mad  major  w; 
up  to  in  riding  so  boldly  away  from  the  army. 

Temple  carried  no  weapon  whatever,  havir 
dressed  for  a  short  ride  up  and  down  the  guardi 
roads.  Now  he  wislied  very  si!icerely  that  he  h; 
filled  his  empty  holsters. 

Anne  led  the  way,  galloping  faster  and  fast( 
and  as  Temple  had  given  by  far  the  best  horse 
her.  he  soon  found  himself  hard  pressed  to  ke 
up  with  her.  The  road  was  even  and  in)t  too  bar 
and  was  shaded  most  of  the  time  by  leafy  mai 
trees  that  lined  both  sides. 

The  first  farm  they  passed  looked  (piite  deserte 
The  fence  in  front  of  the  house  had  tumbled  dow 
the  door  was  ofiF  its  hinges  and  leaned  up  drunker 
at  one  side ;  and  the  front  windows  were  rougl 
boarded  up.  Anne  gave  this  uninteresting  place  I 
one  glance  and  turned  her  attention  to  the  ro 
ahead.  But  the  tnajor  was  not  so  easily  satisfit 
There  was  .something  suspicious  looking  about 
that  he  did  not  like.  Nothing  t(jld  him  clearly  ti- 
the farm  was  in  use,  but  many  little  things  seem 
to  point  to  this :  the  long  grass  in  front  of  the  hoii 
was  trampled  as  though  it  had  been  walked  ov 
very  recently :  much  of  the  wood  that  lay  scatter 
about  near  the  kitchen  door  appeared  to  be  new 


ON  THE   ROAD  TO  NKW   YORK       301 

cut;  als..  Temple  iiiiagiiie.l  lie  had  lieanl  the  stamp 
uf  a  horse's  hoof  in  the  barn.  He  said  iKjthinj^  of 
ihoe  thing's  though  to  Anne,  and,  in  fact,  he  quicklv 
f''ri,n.t  all  about  them  himself. 

( )ii  tiiey  rode.  Anne  was  .^,,  -lad  to  be  free  a.c^ain 
tliat  she  ihonj^ht  nothing  of  where  they  were  going. 
nr  for  how  long  they  were  to  ride.  It  was  enoui-h 
that  the  road  lay  <.i)en  ahead  of  her  and  a  good 
horse  was  under  her.  Xor  did  Major  Temple  think 
of  these  things  either.  It  would  be  a  pity,  indeed, 
lie  thought,  to  lessen  the  joy  of  this  wonderful  ride 
at  Anne's  side  by  worrying  about  the  enemy.  He 
ua,  careful,  nevertheless,  to  .see  that  they  kept  to 
the  main  road,  for  he  knew  that  the  army  would 
be  passing  along  there  during  the  day.  and  it  would 
not  have  done  for  them  to  Icjse  the  army. 

They  came  to  the  bridge  spanning  the  river  that 
Anne  had  looked  on  so  longingly  from  the  top  of 
tlie  hill.  At  the  sound  of  t!:«  horses'  hoofs  on  the 
tloor  of  the  bridge,  a  farmer  boy,  who  had  been 
tl-hing  just  out  of  sight  at  the  edge  of  the  water, 
jumped  up  on  to  the  side  of  the  bridge  to  .see  who 
was  coming.  At  sight  of  the  English  soldier  the 
hoy  turned  and  f]ed,  running  towards  some 
farms  across  the  fields.  Temple  smiled  grimly 
at  this. 

"  The  lad  has  gone  to  warn  his  people,  so  that 


I  r 

1 


n 


si    i 

r!-* 

1  - 

11  i 

■       1- 

1* 

!!■ 


1/  f  I 


il. 


!! 


302       A  SOLDI I:H   OF   VALLEY   FORGE 

tlic)  11  have  things  hot  for  us  when  we  arrive,"  he 
said  humourously. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  Anne  demanded,  a  little 
anxiety  creeping  into  her  voice  for  the  first  time. 
"  Do  you  think  we  had  better  turn  back?  " 

But  now  that  Temple  saw  that  Anne  had  begun 
to  realize  the  danger  he  ran  in  coming  away  from 
the  army  at  all,  he  grew  even  less  cautious  about 
himself  than  he  had  been  before. 

"  It's  just  as  you  say,  .\iine."  he  replied.  "  If 
you  would  like  to  go  on  I'm  with  you." 

.•\nne  was  doubtful.  She  did  not  want  to  stop 
now,  just  when  she  was  entering  the  fairy-land  that 
she  had  spied  from  the  hill.  But  the  sight  of  this 
farmer  boy  running  to  warn  his  people  of  Teniple's 
presence  worried  her.  She  gazed  in  the  direction 
of  the  farms  for  a  few  minutes,  then  turned  and 
looked  back  to  where  the  head  lines  of  the  British 
anT;y  were  appearing  over  the  crest  -  f  the  hill. 
Tliis  last  sight  settled  her  doubts. 

"  Look,"  she  cried.  "  there's  the  army.  We'll 
be  safe  with  it  coming  right  behind  us.  And,  oh! 
wc  don't  want  to  wait  for  it  to  come  up  to  us,  with 
all  its  noise  and  dust.     Let's  go  on.  just  slowly." 

"  All  right."  said  Temple.     And  they  went  on. 

They  rrnle  at  a  fast  walk  along  the  slightly  rising 
road.     Temple  was   the  care-free  one  now.     He 


M, 


ON  TIIK   ROAD  TO  NEW   YORK 


303 


lookcfl  It)  noillicr  ri^ht  nor  k-tt.  I)iit  kei)f  up  a  gay 
cliattcr,  to  uliicli  .Anne  only  ])rttcn(letl  to  listen. 
She  kept  .tjlancinjr  apprehensively  towards  the  great 
farms  across  the  fields  on  iier  left. 

"There!  Look!"  slie  crit.l  presently.  "I  see 
a  man  running.  And  tiiere's  another.  What  are 
they  going  to  do^  (Jeorge.  1  think  we  iiad  httter 
stop."     She  drew  in  her  horse. 

"  We'll  wait  and  see.  tome  on.  dunt  stop. 
We  can  get  away  easily  enough  if  thev  take  after 
us." 

He  glanced  towards  the  farm  and  spied  the  two 
men  as  they  were  disap])earing  into  a  harn. 

"  They  are  going  to  get  tlieir  horses,  I  believe," 
.Anne  said. 

"  Little  good  they'll  do  them  then."  the  major 
remarked  ccjnfidently.  "  We've  got  two  of  the  best 
horses  in  the  army.  They  woidd  he  lucky  if  they 
could  keep  in  sight  of  onr  heels.  Of  course,"  he 
added,  less  confidently,  "onr  hot^.-  have  had  a 
hard  run  already." 

The)'  had  not  gone  a  hundred  yards  when  the 
two  men  reappeared  mounted.  Tliey  stared  hard  at 
the  red-coated  soldier,  riding  so  boldly  on  the  King's 
In'ghway.  and  seemed  to  be  discussing  as  to  what 
they  had  better  do.  Presently  they  started  off  at 
a  fast  trot  down  the  fields,  but  in  the  opposite  direc- 


1  ( 

1    s!' 


I 


' 


f 


111 


H  ?T 


:( ; ' 


i  i.' 


n 


^i;f: 


^i^y 


Ml    .; 

n  1  :*^r' 


I'  n: 


IH 


111™ 


!' 


llhr..    i: 


I'-fa'  •* 


k 


304 


A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


tion  from  that  in  which  Temple  and  Anne  were 
going. 

Temple  drew  up  his  horse  abruptly. 

"What's  up  now?"  he  demanded.  "Trying  to 
cut  us  off?  No,  my  hearties,  you  can't  do  that. 
Come  on,  Aime,  we'll  show  them  what  v-t  can 
do." 

They  turned  their  horses  about  and  started  back 
on  the  ;.;all<)]).  At  this  the  men  in  the  fields  broke 
into  a  gallop,  and  the  race  was  on.  Where  the 
fields  were  at  all  even  the  rebel  soldiers,  for  such 
they  proved  to  be  when  Temple  got  a  nearer  view 
of  them,  held  their  own  very  creditably.  But  every 
here  and  there  they  had  to  leap  a  fence  or  slow 
down  on  account  of  the  rout^hness  of  the  ground, 
and  so  the  two  fugitives  gained  a  little. 

But  this  little  was  of  no  awiil.  as  Temple  soon 
realized,  when  he  noticefl  how  the  road  took  a 
sweeping  curve  to  the  right,  thus  making  their  way 
long,  and  the  cut  across  the  fields  very  short. 

"  They're  going  (o  have  the  best  of  us.  Hns  time, 
little  .\nnc.  T  fear."  the  major  cried.  '  But  there's 
the  armv  not  very  far  off.  .Stircly  they  won't  let 
us  be  taken.     .\  little  r|m'cker,  Anne,  if  you  can." 

By  this  time  the  two  soldiers  were  a  distance 
ahead  of  them,  as  the  road  ran.  b.-  virtue  of  their 
short  cut  over  fields.    Temple  saw  this  with  dismay, 


ON   THE   ROAD    FO   NEW   YORK 


305 


but  said  iifihing  of  it  to  Anne,  and  continued  to 
ride,  as  every  step  was  taking  them  nearer  tlie  army. 
Then  a  surprising-  thing  happened.  The  two  troop- 
ers reached  tlic  road  about  a  fjuarter  of  a  mile  aliead 
of  Anne  and  t!;.'  ':ni;ii:^hnian  and.  instead  of  wait- 
ing for  tlun  or  coujing  [.)  meet  them,  they  con- 
tinued their  •  i('  rule  on  vp  the  road,  utterly  ignor- 
ing them. 

For  once  in  his  life  Major  Temple  felt  very  much 
pleased  at  being  ignored.  He  slowed  his  tired  horse 
down  to  a  walk,  and  watched  the  strange  actions 
of  the  two  rebels,  searching  his  mind  the  while  for 
some  explanation  of  it  all.  He  found  none,  how- 
ever, until  lie  saw  them  turn  into  the  groimds  of 
tlie  deserted  farm,  which  he  and  Anne  had  passed 
a  little  while  before.  At  this  his  heart  sank,  and 
uncon.sciously  he  drew  upon  his  rein  and  brought 
his  horse  to  a  standstill. 

"  Anne,"  lie  said,  "  I  believe  there  are  more  of 
these  chaps  in  the  house  there.  I  thought  I 
s^w  —  "  Rut  he  forgot  to  finish  his  sentence  for 
thinking  of  how  they  were  to  escape  out  of  their 
plight.  "  By  thunder!  Anne,  we've  got  to  .'^^et  to 
that  army  some  way.  What  say  you,  shall  ue 
ride  for  it?  Perhaps  we  can  pass  before  they  get 
>uU." 

Anne  was  willing  and  ready,  and  off  she  started 


if! 


! 


li  s 
I 

'-5 

Si 


.1 


! 

if: 


r  , 


i!     i' 


i  .  „ 

It'll 


n> 


30fi 


A  SOLDIKR  OF  VALLEY   FORGE 


full  speed  towards  the  enemy  and  the  British  army. 
The  major  followed  at  her  heels. 

A  horseman  appeared  at  the  edge  of  the  road  in 
front  of  the  farmhouse,  and  pointed  up  the  road 
towards  the  great,  red  army,  now  but  a  mile  away 
and  shouted  something  at  the  same  time.  Pres- 
ently he  was  joined  by  two  more  mounted  men, 
then  about  fifteen  troopers  filed  out  and  forward  in 
line  two  abreast  upon  the  road,  facing  in  Temple's 
direction. 

Tl;e  little  body  of  rebel  soldiers  had  not  stood 
there  in  plain  view  half  a  minute,  tightening  straps 
and  arranging  bundles  of  provisions,  when  a  half- 
troop  or  so  of  redcf)ats  broke  away  from  the  ranks 
of  the  army  and  started  scouting  down  the  hill  after 
them.  At  this  the  rebel  soldiers  lost  no  time  in 
setting  off.  They  came  clattering  down  the  road 
towards  Temple  and  Anne. 

"  Quick,  George,"  cried  .\nne,  "  we  must  ride 
to  the  fields."  .\nd  without  waiting  for  a  reply 
she  put  her  horse  a^  the  wooden  fence.  Temple 
followed,  as  it  was  the  only  thing  he  could  do;  but 
he  felt  pretty  certain  that,  if  the  rebels  had  any 
intention  of  taking  him,  his  fieeing  across  the  fields 
would  do  little  good.  .\nd  so  it  proved  to  be. 
Hardly  had  they  got  under  wav  on  the  rough  hil- 
locky  pasture  land  when  a  musket  .shot  rang  out. 


h   i 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEW  YORK        307 


The  soldiers  were  not  far  away,  and  the  ball  fur- 
rowed t'  e  dry  earth  a  few  yards  in  front  of  Anne's 
horse. 

"  Stop,  Anne,"  Temple  cried.  "  It's  no  use  our 
running  away,  and  they  as  close  as  that.  They 
could  pot  me  next  shot  easily."  Anne  stopped  and 
turned  a  rather  frightened  face  to  the  Englishman. 
"  You  could  go  on,  Anne,  if  you  wanted  to,  for 
they  won't  harm  you.  You  might  as  well  come 
back  and  return  to  the  army  by  way  of  the  woods 
though." 

Temple  turned  his  horse,  and  was  about  to  start 
hack  to  where  the  troopers  had  halted  upon  the 
road,  when  the  officer  in  charge  neatly  jumped  the 
fence  and  rode  up  to  him.  Temple  did  not  look 
at  the  officer,  but  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  swiftly  ap- 
proaching body  of  English  cavalry. 

"  Your  sword,  sir,"  demanded  the  rebel  in  a  stern 
voice. 

An  exclamation  from  .\nne  made  Temple  turn 
suddenly  toward  the  officer,  and  at  that  moment 
he  and  Major  Wharton  recognized  each  other. 
Rut  David  wasted  little  tiine  in  noticing  tlie  Eng- 
lishman. 

"What,  you,  Temple!"  he  cried  in  amazement. 
Then  he  spied  Anne.  Rut  sti.ddenly  the  pounding 
of  the  hoofs  of  thirty  horses  broke  out  dangerously 


I 


i\ 


,3 


? 


•  h 

■}i; 

!  \  I" 

ill:: 

'I 


r'l; 


li 


1^' 


!       I 


j! 


h;i 


308       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

near.  The  English  cavalry  had  just  •^v  nng  into 
view  around  a  bend  in  the  road. 

■•  Anne!  "  Da\  id  cried;  but  that  \va^  all.  Firinj; 
broke  out  from  the  Briiish  troopers.  As  Major 
Wharton  turned  to  join  his  men,  Temple  .started 
to  follow,  hut  David  shouted  back  to  him,  "  Go 
free.  Temple.  Stop  those  horsemen,  though,  if 
you  can."  Then  he  dashed  off,  jumpcxi  the  fence, 
and,  shouting  a  command  to  his  men,  led  the  little 
group  clattering  down  the  road. 

.As  the  rebels  started  off  a  volley  of  six  or  seven 
muskets  was  fired  on  them,  but  as  the  Englishmen 
were  yet  several  hundred  yards  away  and  riding 
fast  their  bullets  failed  to  find  their  mark. 

Temple  turned  to  speak  to  Anne  but,  finding  her 
staring  intently  down  the  road  at  the  now  disap- 
pearing horsemen,  a  pang  of  jealousy  seized  him. 
and  he  rode  ofif  towards  the  road  without  a  word 
to  her. 

Sitting  his  horse  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  he 
waited  for  the  cavalry  to  coir.e  up.  As  they  neared 
him  he  held  up  his  right  hand  as  a  sign  for  them 
to  stop,  and  they  drew  up  a  few  yards  from  him. 

"  I  was  taken  prisoner,"  he  said  to  the  officer  in 
charge,  a  captain,  "  and  relca.sed  on  condition  that 
I  would  stop  this  pursuit."  He  grinned  at  the 
officer.    "  It  was  worth  the  bargain,  wasn't  it,  cap- 


if!'' 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  NEW  YORK 


309 


lain?  I'll  report  the  case  myself  to  your  superior 
officer." 

The  captain,  a  short,  sturdy,  little  fellow,  made 
a  poor  attempt  at  hiding  his  ill-feelings  at  thus 
being  interfered  with,  when  on  the  point  of  win- 
ning some  distinction  by  the  routing  of  a  rebel  for- 
aging party.  He  saluted  somewhat  abri  jjtly  and, 
shouting  his  orders  with  a  mighty  voice,  swung  his 
lines  about  and  started  them  back  towards  the  army. 

By  this  time  Anne  had  quite  come  to  herself,  and 
liad  joined  Temple.  Together  they  rode,  a  short 
distance  to  the  rear  of  the  troopers,  following  them 
back  to  the  army,  silent  and  dejected.  The  horses 
walked  with  heads  held  low.  and  little  patches  o-f 
foam  dropped  from  their  mouths. 


i     i 


}     ? 


I  3 


I    ! 


n 


"i   ^t 

i. '  r:  i 


W:  i\m 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    JOHN    BRADFORD 

Three  years  liad  passed,  and  since  the  battle  at 
Munnmuth  tlie  Continental  army  had  met  with  little 
encouragement.  The  army  had  been  hampered 
ihnnigh  the  weakness  of  the  government.  The  Con- 
tinental currency  had  become  worth  nothing;  the 
British  had  added  \  ictory  on  to  victory;  Georgia 
had  been  captured;  Cliarleston  taken;  and  the 
.Americans  routed  at  Camden.  Then  on  the  top  of 
all  these  disasters,  at  this  darkest  moment  of  all  the 
war.  when  even  the  great  Washington  had  ceased 
to  hope,  came  .Arnold's  treason.  Rut  the  plot  to 
betray  West  Point  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  hav- 
ing failed,  slf.wly  the  tides  of  fate  began  to  flow  in 
the  opposite  direction.  .Mthough  few  vet  realized 
it.  the  .American  cause  was  in  the  ascendant.  The 
general  depression  was  greatly  relieved  in  the  au- 
tumn of  T7R0  hv  the  news  of  the  victory  at  King's 
Mountain.  The  .American  armv  was  recruited  and 
reorganized;  and  at  the  Iwginning  of  the  year  1781 

310 


nffii""^. 


M» 


^!l 


Hm 


JOHN   BRADFORD     311 


THE  HOUSE  ( 

proved  its  effectiveness  by  the  defeat  of  the  British 
at  Cowpens.  The  outlook  was  decidedly  improving 
for  the  rebels  and  becoming  less  certain  for  the 
British.  For  the  first  time  during  many  a  moon 
the  Tories  of  New  York  discussed  the  situation  with 
a  note  of  anxiety,  in  place  of  the  cock-sureness  which 
fur  so  long  .hey  had  been  displaying. 

Tt  was  on  the  evening  of  October  26th  that  we 
find  Mr.  Bradford.  Anne,  I\[ajor  Temple  and  a  few 
nf  John's  Tory  friends  seated  at  dinner  at  the  rich 
merchant's  house.  The  conversation,  of  course, 
WIS  running  on  the  war;  and  John  was  holding  his 
customary  position  of  critic  of  the  British  army's 
methods.  Temple  was  nobly  defending  them,  and 
doing  a  little  prophesying  at  the  same  time. 

"  Idle  fears,  Mr.  Bradford !  "  he  said  in  answer 
to  John's  clearly  expressed  doubts.  "  Vapours. 
The  rebellion  is  simply  dying  a  natural  death ;  the 
rebel  army  will  waste  away  with  old  age.  Why, 
Washington  hasn't  attempted  to  strike  us  a  blow 
Mnce  the  affair  of  Monmouth,  more  than  three  years 
ago." 

"  Neither  have  we  struck  him  01  _.-.  "  roared  Tohn 
"  and  he  has  contrived  to  keep  us  penned  up  in  New 
York  all  these  three  years." 

"  And  what  better  place  could  we  have  in  this 
confounded  country?" 


I 


I 


^1 


I 


t 


'J 
if 


*l; 


if" 


m  lin 


It 


^ft 


■  ■ 


312       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

"  Hut,  sir,  1  ask  again,  what's  to  become  of  us 
Loyalists  if  Washington  finishes  with  Cornwallis 
there  in  the  South  hefore  Sir  Henry  Chnton  gets 
to  liis  lordship's  aid?  America  will  be  lost  to  Eng- 
land." 

The  major  slapped  the  table  in  his  excitement. 
"'Twill  never  luqiiuMi!"  he  cried.  ''England 
beaten!  'Tisn't  to  be  conceived.  Never  fear.  sir. 
my  Lord  Cornwallis  is  a  match  for  this  American 
Fabins.  He  has  won  liack  the  Southern  Colonies 
for  the  King,  and  for  the  King  he'll  hold  them. 
The  rebellion  is  in  its  dotage.  What  say  you, 
Anne?  "  Without  turning  to  Anne  he  picked  up  his 
glass  and  drained  it. 

Before  .\nne  had  time  to  answer  a  negro  servant 
stepped  into  the  rodin,  and  announced,  "  A  gentle- 
man to  see  Mr.  Bradford,  sah.     Me  done  guv  no 

name." 

John  answered  testily,  "  Let  him  w^ait  or  go  — 
I'm  at  supper." 

"  He  say  he  CMme  on  business,  sah." 

"Business?"  cried  John,  risitig  hastily  from  the 
table.  "  Then  show  him  into  the  parlour.  Excuse 
me,  major." 

But  he  had  not  got  half-way  to  the  door,  when 
in  walked  the  gentleman  in  question.  He  was  clad 
in  very  shabby  finery  of  a  dark  colour,  fringed  with 


THE  HOUSE  OF  JOHN  BRADFORD     313 


go 


much  soiled  lace.  He  wore  a  broad  hat  which, 
owing  to  his  having  neglected  to  remove  it,  and  to 
the  fact  that  he  held  his  head  bowed  concealed  most 
of  his  face. 

John  stared  at  the  man  in  amazement,  not  quite 
certain  whether  to  be  very  sweet  with  this  gentle- 
man on  business,  or  very  indignant  at  his  intrusion. 
.As  the  stranger  did  not  seem  inclined  to  speak  first, 
John  at  last  got  out  in  extremely  civil  voice, 

"  Pray  be  seated,  sir.  and  have  a  glass  of  wine. 
The  business  can  wait,  I  am  sure." 

A  chuckle  broke  out  from  under  the  hat;  such 
a  chuckle  as  made  the  old  gentleman's  scalp  tingle. 
And  the  shabby  gentleman  shook  all  over  as  though 
he  was  enjoying  a  huge  joke. 

Nobody  attempted  conversation  again,  and  least 
of  all  John  Bradford.  Anne  and  Temple  had  both 
'^wung  around  in  their  chairs  to  regard  the  stranger 
when  he  had  given  vent  to  this  fiendish  chuckle. 
\'<)w  all  three  were  staring  at  him  round-eved, 
while  the  big  negro  servant  was  staring  in  the  door- 
way round-moir'  m1. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you'  "  John  suddenly  roared, 
his  voice  faltering  in  spite  of  himself. 

The  shabby  gentleman  slowlv  lifted  his  face  to 
the  light. 

"Why.  father,  don't  you  know  me?" 


I' 


iii 


'f^: 


i!? 


'\n> 


\r: 


iii' 


■'  ! 


i:  il 


;,,j 


I  '  vf"! 


3U   A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

The  old  man  started.     "  My  God.  Barnabas !  " 

"  No,  no.  father.  I'm  not  a  god  yet,"  Barnaha; 
spoke  in  a  strange  high  voice,  and  laughed  in  th( 
same  key.  "  But,  damn  it.  you  needn't  all  stan 
your  damned  heads  off.  Get  to  your  seat  there,  ok 
fatty." 

Poor  John  jumped  as  though  he  had  been  stunj 
by  a  bee.  And  such  was  the  fearful  aspect  of  hii 
son  he  hastened,  purple  in  the  face,  to  get  his  sea 
at  the  table. 

Anne  sat  rigid;  the  colour  had  left  her  face 
while  Temple  liad  the  appearance  of  crouching  ii 
his  chair  and  ready  to  spring.  His  eyes,  fixed  ot 
Barnabas,  fairly  glowed  with  fire. 

Barnabas,  taking  his  eyes  from  his  cringinj 
father,  turned  them,  with  a  great  sneer  on  his  face 
to  gaze  upon  what  he  e.xpected  to  be  other  cringinj 
forms.  But  when  his  eyes  met  Temple's  h 
had  a  considerable  shock,  i  .d  immediately  turne( 
his  attention  to  the  wine  decanter.  Perhap 
he  still  remembered  the  smart  of  Temple' 
sword. 

"  Well,  father,  as  yon  press  me  to  stay  a  while 
I  will."  He  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down  am 
poured  out  a  brimming  glass  of  red  wine.  He  wa 
just  about  to  drain  it  off.  when  evidently  the  silenc 
troubled  him.    He  suddenly  put  down  the  glass  ur 


THE   HOrSE  OF  JOHN   BRADFORD     315 

tuuchtd  upon  the  table,  and  swung  around  in  his 
cliair.  How  he  ever  knew  that  three  darky  serv- 
ants had  been  staring  at  him  with  wide-open  eyes 
and  awed  faces  it  is  hard  to  say.  Ikit  turn  lie  did, 
and  that  S.J  suddenly  as  to  rob  tlie  dark  faces  of  all 
l»nwcr  of  motion  for  very  fear.  With  a  fierce  oath 
ilarnabas  whisked  the  decanter  up  from  tiie  table 
and  sent  it  sinash  througli  the  doorway.  But  the 
dark  faces  were  there  no  more.  After  this  out- 
l.tirsl  of  temper  he  glanced  at  Temple,  then  turned 
towards  his  father,  who  sat  staring  in  front  of  him 
;is  though  the  very  skies  had  fallen  and  all  light 
L;one  out. 

"  Come,  come,  business  before  pleasure  always, 
y"U  know."  Barnabas  said.  "  And  Iiere's  my  busi- 
ness." He  drew  a  large,  square  envelope  from  an 
msidc  pocket,  and  laid  it  upon  tlie  table  in  front 
-■f  Iiim.  "John  E.  Bradford.  Esquire.  Philadel- 
phia." he  read  out. 

At  this  John  sat  up  and  took  notice. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Barnabas  assured  him.  "it's  ad- 
dressed to  you.  See?  "  He  held  it  up  for  the  old 
nian  to  see. 

"  Well,  give  it  to  me."  said  John  weakly,  and 
held  out  his  hand  for  it. 

"  Now,  here's  where  the  business  begins."  Barna- 
bas assured  him.      "  It's   from  your   Philadelphia 


f 


li: 


I 


i 


;    4 


j  i 


I'i    : 


mm\- 


m 


316 


A  SOi.DIKH  OF  VALLKV   KOTUiK 


correspondent,   and   it  contains   vaUialilc   news   for 

you. 

"  Well,  t^nve  it  to  tne,  I  tell  you."  John  was  for- 
gettini;  his  despair  of  a  few  nionients  Ix-fore. 
**  How  did  y<^u  ever  j^ct  hold  of  it?  " 

"  I  got  hold  «»f  it  from  your  corrcsjiondent.  whom 
1  called  on  in  Pliila(leli)hia.  You  know  I've  had  a 
pretty  tough  lime  of  it  these  three  years  since  I 
left  the  army  that  day  at  Monmouth.  I've  hcen 
across  the  water  to  the  ()ld  World  and  couldn't  get 
back,  or  else  you'd  have  seen  me  before  this.  1 
landed  in  Philatlelphia  and  h(>])ed  to  find  you  there, 
and  found  this  instead.  Oh  !  but  business,  business' 
What  do  you  offer  me  f(ir  this  letter?" 

"  Offer  you!  "  .shouted  John.  "  It's  mine.  Give 
it  to  me." 

"  Now  wait,  dear  father,  this  is  business.  I'n 
not  ghini^  things  away.  This  is  worth  —  ah  — 
let  me  see  —  two  hundred  pounds.  Two  hundrec 
pounds,  sir.  and  the  letter's  yours." 

.\t  these  wonN  the  old  gentleman  fairly  l)Ounce( 
up  hi,"i  tlie  table,  inirple  in  the  face.  Tic  slammec 
a  fat  fist  ',own  on  the  boards,  spluttered  but  founc 
no  wrrds,  then  turned  about  and  betook  himself  ou 
of  the  rnnm. 

No  sooner  liad  lie  gone  and  the  door  slammei 
l)ehind  him  than  Anne,  "^till  very  pale,  rose  to  follov 


TIIK   IIOrSK   OF  JOHN    HRADrORl)     ;{17 


liiin.     As  she  and  Temple  left  the  mo... 
lill>(l  his  glass  abriinmiii''-  once  a<:ain. 


anial 


jas 


Anne  seated  heiMlf 


near  the  open  lire 


'I 


ood  near  her.  staring  into  t!)e  llanicN;    Mi 
•nl  paced  in  feverisli  lia>te  nj)  and  down  the  i 


eniple 


'.rad- 


ooni. 


s    had    come    hack. 


Xohody   spoke.      'Jhat    P.arnaha 

al'ter  they  had  thought  for  years  that  he  had 


hir 


ever,  that  he  had  come  hack  witl 


gone 


lout  even  his 
'Id  shi)\v  of  good-will,  was  ahonl  too  much  for  tl 


gentle 


man    to   lR,-ar.      The   terrible    tl 


nn< 


le 


that 


I  Iiilched  at  their  heart 


s  was  the  hopelc 


ssnc-^s  o 


f  tl 


le 


iiiture.      If  he  had  returned  \n  hully  and  rob  them 
alter  these  three  years  of  absence, 
ii"t  cuine  again?    Thev  must  buv  h 


\\h 


uhen  might  he 
mil  off  each  time. 


en  would  it  en(P     With  a  groan  the  rich  mer- 
c'liant  sank  into  a  chair. 

er  all."  Temple  spoke  np.   turning  to   Mr, 


Aft 


Hradford.  "  it's  not  a^;  bad 


All 


as  we  make  it  out  to  be. 


you've  g<it  to  do  is  to  disinherit  1 


nm. 


r, 


live 


him 


'Hiething  this  time:    show   him  clearlv  that   von 


,'irf  ( 


lisinhcritin 


g  him  bv  la 


\v,  and  that  henceforth 


e  anv  other  stranger  i 


'le  will  be  treated  lik 
iiiiys  you  ever  again. 

A   negro   servant   opened   the  d 
starting  to  speak,  sur^-eved  the  rn 


f  h 


le  an- 


oor,   and   before 
om  with  a  nervous 


glance.      He   felt  quite   reassured,   however, 
•he  saw  that  the  awful  gentleman 


W! 


was  not  there. 


;i 


\\ 


1 1 


:  1 :, 


I.  I 


318       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

"  Another  gentleman  to  see  Mr.  Bradford,  sah. 
He  done  guv  the  name  of  Major  Wharton.  He  say- 
he  come  on  business,  sah." 

This  announcement  was  magical  in  its  efifect  upon 
the  three  silent  people.  Anne  thislicd  slightly,  and 
the  sorrow  tied  from  her  face.  Though  she  tried 
hard  to  conceal  her  emotion  yet  Temple  perceived 
it  all  too  clearly.  The  Englishman  turned  his  atten- 
tions to  the  fire  and  started  rearranging  the  burning 
lumps  of  coal  with  the  brass  tongs.  And,  as  for 
John,  such  was  his  instinct  for  business  that,  in  a 
trice,  he  had  thrown  aside  his  burden  of  sorrow  and 
become  the  active  business  man.  He  got  out  of  his 
chair  and  reached  the  door  in  time  to  welcome 
Major  Wharton  as  he  entered. 

After  many  questions  had  been  asked  and  an- 
swered, and  many  bits  of  news,  good  and  bad,  ex- 
changed, while  all  four  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
rooiu,  John  said : 

"But  here  we  are  all  standing!  Sit  down,  sit 
down.     Here's  a  seat  for  you,  David." 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you,  Mr.  Bradford,  I  haven't  a 
minute  to  stay.  I  just  came  to  say  hullo  to  you  all, 
and  to  arrange  that  bit  of  business  with  you  of 
nearly  four  years'  standing." 

"Oh,  there's  no  hurry  about  that,"  John  ex- 
plained, very  evidently  pleased.     "  I'd  forgotten  all 


m 


I'll  t 


THE  HOUSE   OF  JOHN  BRADFORD    819 

about  it.    Perhaps  we  had  better  step  into  the  study 
for  a  moment." 

But  at  this  Major  Temple  assured  them  that  he 
had  important  things  to  attend  to  himself,  and  told 
'hem  not  to  leave  on  account  of  him.  He  shook 
hands  cordially  enough  with  David  and  left  the 
room. 

John  cast  a  doubtful  look  towards  Anne.  "  Well, 
I  guess  we  can  proceed  here.  We  don't  mind  Anne 
now.     She  won't  understand." 

"  Then."  said  David,  "  to  make  it  .short,  'tis  this: 
Ruth  got  not  only  her  health  but  a  husband  in  the 
Rarbadoes;  a  merchant  there.  Well,  he  chooses 
to  consider  the  debt  to  you.  Mr.  Bradford,  as  his 
own,  and  has  furnished  me  with  the  means  to  pay 
it." 

"Ruth  married!  Oh,  what  good  news!"  cried 
Anne. 

"Oh,  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  that.  Davy."  said 
John  in  a  big  comfortable  voice;  "that  is.  to  hear 
of  Ruth's  marriage.  Vcs.  it  is  very  surprising  in- 
deed." Then  spying  the  large,  leather  wallet  which 
David  had  drawn  from  his  pocket,  he  tried  hard  to 
rebutton  the  buttons  of  his  waistcoat,  repeating  the 
while.  "  yes.  very  surprising,  indeed,  indeed." 

"  T  have  the  full  amount  here.  — -  two  hundred 
pounds  with  the  interest  for  them."    David  opened 


I 


I 


'!.< 


320       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

the  leather  wallet.  "  Now,  in  paying  you  these,  it  is 
understood,  I  supjiose,  that  I  am  released  from  the 
embargo  you  put  me  undc?" 

John  had  had  one  hand  all  ready  to  put  forth  to 
receive  the  notes,  but  at  these  words  he  withdrew 
it  hastily  into  his  trousers"  pocket.  For  that  em- 
bargo was  a  very  valuable  asset  to  John.  It  stood 
in  his  mind  as  representative  of  all  his  much-loved 
and  valued  possessions.  Owing  to  it  he  felt  assured 
that  his  daughter  would  marry  on  the  "  right "  side 
of  the  disputants.  The  good  gentleman  consid- 
ered Anne  as  a  very  precious  bit  of  means  to  an 
end. 

"  Business  is  business,  you  know.  David,  even 
with  those  we  love  most.  This  is  all  I  can  promise 
you :  if  the  allied  armies  in  the  South  defeat  Lord 
Cornwallis  then  the  embargo  is  ofif." 

John  turned  away  and  paced  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room  with  every  show  of  satisfaction.  When 
he  paced  back  again  he  regarded  Anne  inquiringly, 
as  though  he  expected  to  find  that  his  words  had 
a  great  effect  on  her.  He  had  quite  forgotten  that 
his  daughter  knew  nothing  of  what  they  were  talk- 
ing. 

David  remained  impassive,  although  in  his  heart 
this  hard  man  of  weights  and  measures  stung  him 
to  anger. 


1M 


THE  HOUSE  OF  JOHN  BRADFORD     321 

"When  can  we  hope  to  know  anything  about 
it? "  lie  asked. 

"  Any  day,  any  day  now.  You  know  this  long 
while  Washington  has  been  manoeuvring  to  corner 
Cornwallis  down  there  by  Yorktown,  and  the 
French  fleet  helping  him;  well,  it's  my  opinion, 
David,  they'll  do  it,  and  soon  too.  I'll  get  word  the 
instant  any  news  arrives;  my  correspondent  in 
Philadelphia  sees  to  that." 

David  turned  aside  with  a  sickly  grin.  He  knew 
that  it  would  be  hopeless  to  try  and  reason  this  mer- 
chant into  surrendering  any  point  of  advantage 
which  he  possessed.  He  would  have  to  wait,  then, 
until  the  coming  battle  in  the  South  should  decide 
his  fate.  But  he  himself  had  to  start  South  to  join 
the  forces  the  first  thing  next  day,  and  the  idea  of 
leaving  Anne  for  no  knowing  how  long  a  time  and 
riding  off  with  this  terrible  uncertainty  still  with 
him,  was  too  much.  In  spite  of  his  better  judgment 
he  had  to  plead. 

"  But,  Mr.  Bradford,  I  have  to  leave  here  in  a 
few  minutes,  for  I  ride  South  to-morrow  —  well 
—  it  seems  to  me  only  honest  that  if  I  can  pay  the 
debt,  everything  should  be  settled  between  us.  I 
must  say  —  " 

But  here  Anne  broke  in.  S'le  had  been  busily 
examining  the  scarlet  geraniums  in  the  window  at 


322       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


the  far  end  of  the  room  until  this  moment,  but  now 
her  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her. 

"What  docs  all  this  mean?"  she  demanded. 
"  It  sounds  too  mysterious  for  anything." 

David,  of  course,  had  no  intention  of  answermg, 
and  he  felt  quite  sure  John  would  not  either.  But 
after  a  moment's  pause  John  did  answer. 

"  I  suppose  there's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't 
know,"  he  said  a  little  doubtfully.  "  I  lent  David 
a  little  money  to  send  Ruth  South  for  her  health. 
Ruth's  husband  chooses  to  consider  the  debt  his  own 
and  has  sent  David  here  to  pay  it." 

"  I  never  heard  it ;  how  strange."  Anne  thought 
for  a  moment.  "And  this  embargo?  You  see  I 
was  listening  all  along.  What  is  it  that  David 
wants  you  to  release  him  from?  " 

"  Come,  come,  Anne,  you  mustn't  be  too  curious. 
You  women  have  a  license,  I  know,  but  you  mustn't 
carry  it  too  far ! "  Nevertheless  John  was  very 
proud  of  his  business  deal  and  saw  no  harm  in  let- 
ting Anne  into  it.  "  If  you  must  know,  the  em- 
bargo I  put  David  under  was  that  he  would  not 
marry  you  until  I  gave  my  consent.  I  lent  the 
money  under  tliis  precise  condition."  The  mer- 
cliant  lifted  a  hand  and  brought  his  forefinger  and 
thumb  close  together  in  front  of  a  half-.shut  eye, 
as  though  he  was  taking  aim  through  them. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  JOHN  BRADFORD     323 


Anne  blushed  and  did  not  look  at  David.  David 
blushed  and  did  not  look  at  Anne.  The  merchant 
continued : 

"  David  has  brought  the  money,  with  the  inter- 
est due,  —  but  whether  I  give  my  consent  or  not 
depends  on  affairs  in  the  South,  as  I  said." 

"What  has  the  South  to  do  with  us?"  Anne 
asked. 

"  Not  much  to  do  with  you  people,  but  a  whole 
lot  to  do  with  me.  If  the  British  win,  why,  I'm 
a  Tory  and  so  all  safe;  but  if  the  rebels  win,  then 
off  with  the  embargo,  on  with  a  rebel  son-in-law, 
r>..i,d  John  Bradford  won't  have  to  flee  to  England 
or  Canada  for  protection.    See  what  I  mean  ?  " 

Anne  did  see  what  he  meant  and  turned  away. 
Just  what  would  have  ensued  had  not  an  interrup- 
tion come  at  the  moment  there  is  no  saying.  For 
Anne  and  John  were  very  natural  people  and  did 
have  their  disputes.  From  Anne's  manner  as  she 
turned  away  from  him  John  read  volumes.  His 
temper  was  rising,  and  he  was  getting  ready  for 
one  of  his  outbursts,  when  the  door  was  flung  open 
and  Barnabas  entered.  Barnabas  must  have  fin- 
ished all  the  wine  that  was  on  the  table,  for  already 
the  wine  effect  was  very  marked. 

"Well,  what  about  it,  old  boss?"  demanded  the 
son  as  he  again  drew  the  letter  from  his  pocket. 


■.  ' 


HJ 


'■  i 


!    i 


Wmi 


324       A   SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

John  did  IK II  s{)cak. 

"  Take  it,  ov  lca\e  it.  then.  N(nie  of  your  foolin' 
for  me."  Saying  this,  Barnabas  stepped  cner  to  the 
open  fire,  and  made  as  though  to  drop  the  letter 
into  the  flames. 

"Wait,"  John  snapped  out.  Barnabas  paused; 
the  letter  ready  to  fall  from  his  fingers.  "  Don't 
you  want  that  letter,  David?"  John  demanded. 
"  That  letter  has  the  news  you're  looking  for:  it's 
sure  to  have.  Buy  the  letter  with  the  two  hundred 
pounds  you'\e  got,  and  if  Washington  has  won 
you're  free  to  marry  Anne  to-morrow  if  you  like. 
If  he  has  lost  you'll  never  marry  her." 

"Ho.  ho!"  cried  Barnabas,  straightening  him- 
self up  and  regarding  John  and  David.  "  So  you've 
kept  the  game  going  pretty  cleverly:  a  son-in-law 
on  the  winning  side.  But  I'm  afraid  if  the  British 
win  you'll  have  to  stir  your  old  bones  to  make  this 
minx  marry  Temple.     Ha.  ha !  " 

But  John  paid  no  attention  to  Barnabas;  at  least 
he  thought  he  didn't,  although  his  face  flushed  anew 
with  anger. 

"  I'll  pay  two  hundred  pounds  for  the  letter  if 
the  embargo  will  be  off,"  David  said. 

But  John  Bradford  was  not  to  come  out  under- 
neath in  a  business  transaction. 

"  If  Washington  has  won  the  embargo's  off." 


til 


THE  HOUSE  OF  JOHN  RRADFORD     325 


"  It  seems  the  young  major  hasn't  much  confi- 
dence in  Wasliington,"  suggested  Barnabas  with  a 
sneer. 

"  I'll  take  the  letter,"  said  David,  "  on  this  con- 
dition, that  if  it  doesn't  definitely  state  that  Wash- 
ington lia>.  won  or  lost,  but  leaves  us  none  the 
wiser,  the  battle  not  having  yet  been  fought,  you 
pay  half." 

"  Agreed.     Hand  over  the  letter,  sir." 

David  gpve  two  tightly  Ixiund  packages  of  notes 
to  Barnabas  in  exchange  for  the  letter. 

"  Let  me  open  it,  David,"  cried  Anne,  running 
over  to  him. 

It  was  with  very  marked  relief  that  he  surren- 
dered it  to  her  for,  in  spite  of  himself,  David's 
hands  shook  as  he  held  the  letter  up  to  open.  And 
now  he  wondered  at  the  calm  way  in  which  Anne 
drew  a  pin  from  her  hair,  inserted  it  in  one  corner 
of  the  envelope,  and  finally  tore  it  open. 

"  Correct,"  said  Barnabas  as  he  finished  count- 
ing the  notes.  He  tucked  them  with  great  care 
into  an  inside  pocket  and  buttoned  up  his  coat. 
Then  grinning  with  great  relish  at  the  others, 
he  slapped  his  chest  where  it  bulged  with  the 
money. 

"  Ah.  that's  the  warm  linin'  to  have.  But  hurry 
up  with  the  news  there,  sister;    I  must  be  off.     I 


'    \\: 


iu 


i 


328       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 


*  '•  ■ 


■I'-! 


i''  t  iti   i 


don't  know  which  are  the  most  anxious  to  shoot  me, 
the  Enghsh  or  the  Yankees." 

Anne  unfolded  the  sheet  and  held  it  close  to  tlie 
lamp  and  read  aloud  : 

"  '  Philadelphia.  October  24.  1781.'  " 

"  Why,  'tis  but  two  days  ago !  "  exclaimed  John. 
"  The  messenger  has  made  speed." 

" '  Dear  Sir :  As  a  messenger  leaves  at  daylight 
who  will  be  admitted  to  New  York,  I  write  this 
by  t  idle  tliat  you  may  be  among  the  first  in  that 
city  to  hear  what  news  has  just  arrived  and  set 
the  town  wild.  An  hour  ago,  I  mean  a  little  after 
three  of  the  clock  at  night,  I  was  awakened  by  the 
clatter  of  a  horse  gall;  oing  in  the  street.  It  stopped 
near  my  door,  that  is,  in  front  of  Judge  McKean's 
house,  the  President  of  the  Congress.  I  heard  a 
pounding  on  the  judge's  door,  and  the  judge's 
voice  from  his  bedroom  window\  I  got  out  of  bed 
and  opened  my  own  window,  but  what  the  horse- 
man said  I  could  not  make  out,  though  it  excited 
the  judge  amazingly.     It  —  '  " 

"Oh,  God!  why  doesn't  the  old  fool  give  us 
his  news  and  be  done  with  it ! "  Barnabas  ex- 
claimed. 

"  '  It  was  heard  by  the  watchman,  who  came  up 
and  talked  with  the  rider,  while  the  judge  hastened 
down-stairs  to  open  the  door  himself.     And  then. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  JOHN   BRADFORD    327 


what  think  you,  the  watchman  set  up  the  cry  — '  " 
Anne  turned  the  sheet  over.  "  '  "  Past  three  o'clock, 
and  Cornwallis  is  taken !  "  It  was  indeed  true.  At 
Yorktown,  in  Virginia,  on  the  19th,  another  Brit- 
ish army  surrendered.'  " 

John  Bradford  stepped  liastily  across  the  room 
to  David. 

"  Davy,  my  boy,"  he  said,  grasping  his  hand, 
"this  is  a  great  day  for  you;  yes,  sir,  a  great  day 
for  you.  And  you've  got  all  my  best  w  ishes  for  the 
future,  Davy.     Be  good  to  Anne." 

So  joyous  was  David  that  he  chose  to  take  the 
good  gentleman  at  his  face  value.  He  expressed 
most  sincere  thanks  for  his  kind  words  and 
squeezed  his  hand  very  warmly. 

Barnabas,  who  had  been  silently  looking  on,  broke 
out  into  a  hearty  and  scornful  laugh  and  started 
for  the  door.  Then  the  small  spark  of  good  that 
lurked  somewhere  within  him  came  to  the  surface. 
He  turned  suddenly  about  and  held  out  his  hand  to 
Anne. 

"  Good-bye,  little  sister,"  he  said. 

Anne  grasped  his  hand  joyfully.  Then,  without 
glancing  at  the  others,  Barnabas  Bradford  left  his 
father's  house.  The  prodigal  had  returned,  but 
had  left  still  the  prodigal;  and  it  was  to  be  many 
years  ere  they  were  to  hear  of  him  again :    years 


'i 


if 


i 


tilih 


m 


.M  n 


328       A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

that,  for  the  man  that  knew  not  enough  to  mend  his 
ways,  were  steeped  in  grief  and  pain. 

Soon  after  Barnabas  had  left.  Major  Temple 
entered.  The  great  news  was  broken  to  him,  and 
he  again  proved  iiimself,  even  inuler  this  severe  test. 

"  That  means  that  /  instead  of  v"»  start  South 
to-mornnv,"  he  said  to  David  with  a  little  smile  as 
he  shook  him  by  the  hand. 

"  No,  I  shall  not  have  to  go  South  now  that 
Washington  is  vi'-torious."  l)a\id  said;  and  he  tried 
to  keep  the  exu.iation  out  of  his  \i»ice.  "  Wash- 
ington has  been  very  good  to  me." 

"  Ay,  he  has  won  the  day  for  you,  lad."  put  in 
John. 

Then  Anne,  who  had  found  nothmg  to  say  dur- 
ing this  time,  spoke  to  the  h'nglishman,  "  George, 
when  you  come  North  again  you  will  come  and  stay 
here  at  this  very  house,  won't  you?" 

"  Thanks,  Anne,  I  shall  the  moment  I  am  off 
duty,"  be  assured  her  warmly. 

Major  Temple  left  the  house  soon  afterwards  on 
his  errand  of  war,  and  John  Bradford  rode  with 
him  i)art  way  through  the  town,  but  finally  dropped 
off  at  a  friend's  house  to  break  to  him  the  news  of 
the  rebel  victory. 

THE    END. 


From 

L.  C.  Page  &  Company's 

Announcement   List 

of  New   Fiction 


THE  STORY  GIRL 

By  L.   M.   MONTOOMKKY. 

Cloth,  12ino,  illustrulctl, 'Ipi'onitive  jacket  .  ,f'-^" 

To  (luoto  from  one  of  our  ciiitor's  reports  on  the  new  Mont- 
Komcrv  b<M}k  —  "  Misn  Moiitnoincrv  hius  <le(i<I(Mlly  urrivid  in  tlii.s 
Htorv'""  The  remarkable  success  of  her  .lelinhtful  Annk  books 
andof  the  ehurininK  "  Kilmeny  of  th<'  (Jrchard  "  has  est.ibhshcd 
her  a-s  one  of  America's  leadinR  authors  —  a  writer  of  books 
which  touch  the  heart,  ui)hft  the  spirit,  and  leave  aii  imprint  of 
lastiuK  8we«UiMvw  on  the  memory.  But  in  "  1  he  htory  l.irl, 
everywhere  the  touch  of  the  fmUfuii  artist  is  evident  —  a  sm<)oth- 
nesd  and  polish  whicli  heij^htcns  the  unusual  style  of  a  gifted 

author.  ,      ,    ,    ,        ■  .,  •        t^  i         i 

The  environment  is  again  the  author  s  beloved  Prince  bdward 
I.iland  and  the  storv  and  incidents  possess  the  same  simplicity 
and  charm  which  characterize  Miss  Montgomery's  earlier  books. 
The  Story  Girl,  herself  —  Sara  Stanley  —  is  a  fascinatiiiK 
creature,  and  will  delight  and  thrill  her  readers  with  her  weinl 
tales  of  ghosts  "  and  things."  She  tells  in  wondrous  voice  of 
"The  Mystery  of  the  Golden  Milestone,"  "  How  Kissing  Was 
Discovered,"  and  of  just  how  the  Milky  Way  happened  into  the 
heavens.  She  will  make  you  feel  the  spell  of  the  old  orchard 
where  she  and  her  plivmates  sjiend  such  hajipy  days,  and  with 
Felix,  Dan  and  Beverly  you  will  live  again  with  her  the  "  tragfv 
difw  of  childhood." 

Of  Miss  Montgomery's  previous  books,  the  reviewers  have 
written  as  follows:  j    i.       v,        i 

"  The  art  which  pervades  every  pnge  is  so  refined  that  the  cul- 
tivated imagination  will  return  to  the  story  again  and  again  in 
memory  to  find  alwavs  something  fresh  to  enjoy.  —  Toronto 
[Vorl'i.  ,    ,  ,, 

"  Miss  Montgomery  has  attained  an  honored  place  among  the 
worth-while  writers  of  fiction."  —  Benrmi  and  Budget. 

"  Miss  Montgomery  has  a  svmpathetic  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  joined  to  high  ideals,  a"  reawnably  romantic  view  point 
and  a  distinct  gift  of  description."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


li 


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L.    C.   PAGE   6*   COMPAXY'S 


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>;'  I' 


A  CAPTAIN  OF  RALEIGH'S 

By  (J.  E.  TiiEoDOKE  HoiiKiiTH,  mitlior  of  "  A  CavHlirr  of  \  ir- 

Kiiiiii,"  "  CoinnulcM  of  the  '1  rails,"  "  Hcd  I'caiiuTH,'  t-tc. 

Cloth,  12ino,  illuBtralid,  (iccorntivp  jacket 

A'(/  $1.2r)  (carriagi^,  !.'?<■.  extra) 

A  tj-piral  Rolirrts  roniaiicf  —  «la.~liiri^;  and  hrl^k  willi  \\n: 
BccncH  for  the  inont  part  laiil  in  tlie  infant  colonv  <>l  NcwtuiiiHi- 
land,  at  the  time  when  Sir  Walter  Kalei^li  and  other  famous 
eaptains  swept  the  waM  for  Jinnlaiid.  Sir  Walter  is  one  of  the 
eharacti'r.s  in  the  romance  l.ut  the  chief  interct-t  centres  about  one 
of  his  othcers,  Captain  Join    I''Tcv. 

Klizabeth  Duwaney,  tie-  heronie,  is  beautiful  and  viviiciourt 
enough  to  quite  turn  the  heads  of  llie  several  gallant  gentlemen 
who  struggle  for  her  hand,  and  to  k(  ep  the  readi  r  gue.>-t^ing  until 
the  very  liLst  page  an  to  wliich  suitor  will  fii\d  fa\or  in  licr  eyt  s. 
I'nuHUa!  and  untxpecte<l  situations  in  the  plot  an  handled  skil- 
fully and  you  close  the  book  agreeing  with  our  editor  that  "  Mr. 
Roberts  has  given  us  another  capital  yarn!  " 

"  Mr.  Roberts  haw  undoubted  skill  in  portraying  character 
and  carrying  events  along  to  a  satisfactory  concluuion."  — 
The  Smart  Stl. 

"  One  can  always  predict  of  a  book  by  Mr.  Roberts  that  it 
will  be  interesting.  One  can  go  further  and  predict  that  the  book 
will  be  fascinating,  e.xciting  and  thrilling."  —  Boston  (lloLe. 

A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

By  RoBKRT  Nkilson  Stk  phkns,  author  of  "  An  Fnemy  to  the 
King,"  "  Philip  VVinwood."  etc.,  and  CJ.  E.  Theodore 
R0HERT8,  author  of  "  Hemming,  the  Adventurer,"  "  Red 
Feathers,"  etc. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated         .  .        .        SI. 50 

The  many  admirers  of  the  brilliant  historical  romances  of  the 
late  Robert  Neilson  Stephens  will  be  iir.atified  at  the  announce- 
ment of  a  posthumous  work  by  that  gifted  writer.  The  rough 
draft  of  the  story  was  laid  ;tside  for  other  work,  and  later,  with- 
out completing  the  novel,  the  plot  was  utilized  for  a  play.  With 
the  play  completed  Mr.  Stephen.s  again  turned  his  attention  to 
the  novel,  but  death  j)revented  its  completion.  Mr.  Roberts  hius 
handled  his  difficult  task  of  completiiig  the  work  with  care  and 
skill. 

The  story,  like  that  of  "  1  ne  Continental  Dragoon,"  takes  as 
its  theme  an  incident  in  the  Revolution,  and,  as  in  the  earlier 
novel,  the  scene  is  the  "  debatable  ground  "  north  of  New  York. 
In  interest  of  plot  and  originality  of  development  it  is  as  re- 
markable as  the  earlier  work,  but  it  is  more  mature,  more  force- 
ful, more  real. 


fl'N' 


;  1 


i 


LIS!    OF  NEW  F/Cr/OX 


THE  RED  FOX'S  SON 

By  Kdoak  M.  Dii.LtY. 

Cloth,  12mo,  illustrated ll.rjO 

Picturpsque  Hh.irhazdniH  —  a  province  of  the  Balkan  penin- 
sula —  is  the  scttinK  for  thin  simrklinK  "  Zenda  "  novel,  which 
quite  mirpMstort  the  retiulalion  story  of  modern  mystery  and  ad- 
venture, when  the  dashing  young  ,\iiieri<an  K(m>m  to  the  mythical, 
i.dt  interesting  Balkiin  Slates,  and  creates  havoc  in  the  hearts  of 
the  Slavs,  himself  becoming  a  slave  to  the  lieuutifiil  nrincess  of 
the  country.  It  is  a  romance  rnh  in  exciting  detail,  and  haa 
glamour,  dash,  vivacity  and  spirit  of  the  most  pleasing  order, 
in  every  page  of  "  The  "lied  Fox's  Sou  "  the  fiction  lover  will  tind 
fasciaating  reading. 


J.' 


M 


■  1^ 


^       ^       ^ 


THE  DILEMMA  OF  ENGELTIE 

By  Emma  Ratner,  author  of  "  Free  to  Serve,"  etc. 

Cloth,  12mo,  illustrated.  Net  $1.35  (carriage,  12c.  extra) 

Given  a  wedding  irrevocably  decreed,  the  date  of  the  actual 
ceremony  somewhere  on  the  limits  of  a  fortnight  ahead;  given 
a  bride  but  not  a  groom,  a  maid  of  the  old  Dutch  New  York  days, 
pretty  enough  to  turn  men's  heads  for  her  beauty  alone,  well 
dowered  enough  to  be  one  of  the  prizes  of  the  decade:  the  wedding 
festivities,  merrymakings  these  Dutch  colonial  worthies  loved 
to  give  to  prospective  brides  and  grooms,  in  full  swing;  half  a 
dozen  young  Dutchmen  with  hands  outstretched  ready  to  grasp 
the  prize  and  reciprocate  the  maiden's  vows  would  she  but  nod 
their  way;  the  wedding  itself  as  sure  as  fate  or  death;  the  bride 
upon  the  scene,  receiving  the  honors  of  the  occa.sion  —  alone; 
the  bridegroom  an  unknown  quantity;  the  days  racmg  by  m 
mirth  and  festivity  and  the  wedding  daily  drawing  nearer; 
problem  —  6nd  the  bridegrofim! 

The  setting  for  this  unusu.al  situation  is  quaint  New  Nether- 
lands, in  1702,  shortly  after  England  had  8ucceede<l  in  wrestmg 
from  Holland  her  j)rosperou8  colony  in  the  New  World.  The 
-harp  contrast  between  the  primitive  conditions  of  the  neigh- 
boring settlements  and  the  comparative  luxury  of  the  town  ia 
well  portrayed,  and  forms  an  everchanging  backgrouml  to  a 
t  lie  of  unusual  excellence  both  in  the  conception  and  in  the 
development  of  its  novel  plot. 


. 


11 


.Siirx*<: 


L.  C.  PACE    (&•   COMPANY'S 


■»    !l 


THE  CHRONICLES  OF  MADELYN  MACK 

By  HcoH  C.  Weir. 

Cloth,  12mo,  illustrated Jl-50 

Lovers  of  rapid  action,  ingenious  situations  and  excitement 
will  find  abundant  entertainment  in  following  the  adventures 
and  career  of  Madelyn  Mack  —  a  veritable  wizard  at  her  trade 
—  the  heroine  of  this  clever  and  straightforward  detective  novel. 
Her  career  is  brimful  of  excitement,  one  continuous  series  of 
adventures,  which  constitute  a  tale  of  swift  and  dramatic  action. 
Clever  in  plot  and  effective  in  style,  the  author  has  seized  on 
some  of  the  most  sensational  features  of  modem  life,  and  the 
reader  who  has  a  grain  of  fancy  or  imagination  may  be  defied 
to  lay  this  book  down  once  he  has  begun  it  until  the  last  word  ia 
reached. 

MISS  BILLY 

By  Eleanor  H.  Porter. 

Cloth,  ]2mo,  illustrated  .  ATe^  $1 .25  (carriage,  12c.  extra) 

"  Billy,"  in  this  instance,  is  the  name  of  a  very  dainty  and 
pretty  girl  with  pink  cheeks  and  a  wealth  of  curly  hair  and  the 
sweetest  of  smiles.  When  you  first  meet  her  in  the  story  she  is 
all  that  her  name  implies  —  a  harum-scarum  hoyden  of  sixteen 
who  quite  unknowingly  succeeds  in  completely  upsetting  the 
quiet  and  dignity  of  the  Beacon  Street  household  of  the  three 
Henshaw  boys,  who  had  hitherto  lived  an  uneventful  life  in 
"  The  Strata,"  as  the  old  Boston  mansion  was  fittingly  termed 
by  Bertram,  the  youngest  of  the  brothers.  But  Billy  grows  up. 
and  almost  before  she  herself  realizes  it  a  romance  has  entered 
Ijer  fife  —  one  of  those  charming  and  refreshing  romances  which 
strike  a  sympathetic  chord  in  tb;:  hearts  of  its  readers  and  brings 
back  fond  memories  of  "  the  glamour  and  joys  of  youth." 


^ 


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\:A  I',,' 

T  1  •  I 

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Selections  from 
L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 
List  of  Fiction 

WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 


Each  one  vol.,  library  12nio,  cloth  decorative 


$1.50 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  GEORGIANA 

A  Romance  op  the  Days  of  the  Younq  Pretender.  Illus- 
trated by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  A  love-story  in  the  highest  degree,  a  dashing  story,  and  a  re- 
markably well  hnished  piece  of  work."  —  Chicago  Hecord-Herald. 

THE  BRIGHT  FACE  OF  DANGER 

Being  an  account  of  some  adventures  of  Plenri  de  Launay,  son 
of  the  Sieur  de  la  Toumoire.  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
"  Mr.  Stenhens  has  fairly  outdone  himself.     We  thank  him 

heartily.    The  story  is  nothing  if  not  spirited  and  entertaining, 

rational  and  cr      incing."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

(40th  thou.sand.) 

"  This  is  easily  the  best  tiling  that  Mr.  Stephens  has  yet  done. 
Those  familiar  with  his  other  novels  can  best  judge  the  measure 
of  this  praise,  which  is  generous."  —  Buffalo  Newt. 

CAPTAIN  RAVENSHAW 

^/v-J^^L  '^*"*  ^^  Cheapside.  (52d  thousand.)  A  romance 
of  Elizabethan  London.  Illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle  and 
other  artists. 

Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan  have  we  had 
anything  so  good  in  the  blended  vein  of  romance  and  comedy. 

THE  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

A   Romance   op   Philipse   Manor   House 
thousand.)    Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
A  stirring  romance  of  the  Re'xalution,  with  its 
neutral  territory. 


IN   1778.     (63d 
laid  on 


L.  C.  PAGh  A'  COMPANY'S 


I:    I 


•«•  \ 


r  •!-     ^j  (.11 


PHILIP  wnrwooD 

aoth  thousand.)  A  Sketch  of  the  Domestic  History  of  mi 
American  Captain  in  the  War  of  Independence,  embracm£ 
Ss  that  o^urreci  between  and  durmg  the  ye"s  l^W  anS 
1785  in  New  York  and  London.  lUuatrated  by  E.  W.  U 
Hamilton. 

AW  ENEMY  TO  THE  KING 

/7nth  thousand  1  From  the  "  Recently  Discovered  Memoirs 
iuhe  SieHe  liToum^ire."  Illustrated  by  H.  De  M,  Young^ 
An  historical  romance  of  the  sixteenth  century,  describing  the 

adv^nt-lTs  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  court  of  Henry 

111.,  and  on  the  field  with  Henry  IV. 

THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 

A  Stort  of  Adventure.    (35th  thousand.)    Illurtrated  by 

AiSliSricd 'romance  of  the  eighteenth  centu^,  bemg  M 
ac^nt  of  the  life  of  an  American  gentleman  adventurer  o» 
Jacobit«  ancestry. 

A  GENTLEMAN  PLAYER 

His  Adventures  on  a  Secret  Mission  for  P^««'J  Euia 
BETH.    (48th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  MemU. 
The  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who  Jo^n^  Sh^j^s^are  s  com- 

pany  of  players,  and  becomes  a  fnend  and  prot^  of  the  greal 

poet. 


CLEMENTINA'S  HIGHWAYMAN 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated 


tl.50 


otn  uecorauve,  iiiuBtiai-cu  •      ,  •  „  ^.„„. .__.,  u:„h. 

Mr.  Stephens  has  put  into  hU  new  book,  "  Clementma  s  High^ 
waTman.'Uhe  finest  qualities  of  plot,  construction,  and  literary 

^The  story  is  laid  in  the  mid-Georgian  period.  It  "»  dashing. 
«,arUinS  vivacious  comedy,  with  a  Uroine  as  lovely  and 
SwSeabie  as  an  April  day,  and  a  hero  aU  ardor  «id  daring. 

TALES  FROM  BOHEMIA 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Goldsmith.  ^ 

Qoth,  decorative  cover     .        -        •        •        •,     •,  ..  '  ^^^„ 

Theee  brieht  and  c  ever  tales  deal  with  people  of  the  tbeetre 

«»d  cSd  chwaeter.  in  other  walks  of  life  which  fringe  on  Bohemia 


I 


LIST  OF  FlCTJOff 


WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

HAUNTERS  OF  THE  SILENCES 

Cloth,  one  volume,  with  many  drawings  by  Charlea  Livingston 
Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color        ....      I2.OO 
The  stories  in  Mr.  Roberta's  new  collection  are  the  strongest  and 
beat  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely  met 
with  in  books,  whose  hves  are  spent "  In  the  Silences,"  where  they 
are  the  supreme  rulers.  Mr.  Roberts  has  written  of  them  sympa- 
thetically, as  always,  but  with  fine  regard  for  the  scientific  truth. 
"  Ab  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

RED  FOX 

The  Story  of  His  Adventurous  Career  in  the  Rinowaak 
W1LD8,  AND  OF  His  Final  Tricmph  over  the  Enemies  of 
His  Kind.  With  fifty  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"  True  in  substance  but  fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  interest 
old  and  young,  city-bound  and  iree-tooted,  those  who  know  ani- 
mals and  those  who  do  not."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  A  brilliant  chapter  in  natural  history."  —  Philadelphia  North 
American. 


1 
It 


1 


*HE  KraDRED  OF  THE  WILD 

A  Book  or  Animal  Life.  With  fifty-one  full-page  plates  and 
many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livmgston  BuU. 

Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 

"  Is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  animal  stories 

that  has  appearea;   well  named  and  well  done."  —  John  Bur- 

rough*. 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAH^S 

A  companion  volume  to  "  The  Kindred  of  the  Wild."    With 
forty-eight  full-page  plates  and  many  decorations  from  draw- 
ings by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  decorative  cover (2:00 


\ 


J 


Bft— *-*.'i: 


L.  C.  PAGE  &•  COMPANY'S 


"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  roburt 
in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phaaes  of  woodcraft. 
Among  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an 
enviable  place."  —  The  Outlook.  ...  ,•     ■    ». 

"  This  is  a  book  full  of  delight.  An  additional  charm  lies  m  Mr. 
Hull's  faithful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion  all  their 
own  tell  the  story  oft  he  wild  life,  illuminatnig  and  supplementing 
the  pen  picturea  of  the  author."  —  Literary  Di"eat. 

THE  HOUSE  m  THE  WATER 

With  thirty  full-pai;e  illustrations  bv  Charles  Livingston  Bull 
and  Frank  Vining  Stiiith.  Cover  design  and  decorations  by 
Charles  Livingston  Hull. 

l'2mo,  cloth  decorative •.     •low 

"  Every  para  ,raph  is  a  splendid  picture,  suggesting  in  a  few 

words  the  appeal  of  the  vast,  illimitable  wilderaeas.    —  Th* 

Chicago  Tribune. 

THE  HEART  THAT  KNOWS 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    .        .  .-    .  **-^^ 

"  A  novel  o'  singularly  effective  strength,  luminous  in  literary 

color,  rich  in  its  passionate,  yet  tender  drama."— A^eto  York  Globe. 

EARTH'S  ENIGMAS 

A  new  edition  of  Mr.  Roberts's  first  volume  of  fiction,  pub- 
lished in  1S92,  and  out  of  print  for  several  years,  with  the  addi- 
tion of  three  new  stories,  and  ten  illustrationa  by  Charles 
Livingston  Hull. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover   .  .        •_    *lo\) 

"  It  will  rank  high  among  collections  of  short  stories.  In 
'  Earth's  Enigmas  '  is  a  wider  range  of  subject  than  in  the  '  Kin- 
dred of  the  Willi.'  "  —  Review  from  advance  sheets  of  the  iUtutrated 
edition  by  Tiffany  L'^ake  in  the  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

BARBARA  LADD 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  .  ..     11.50 

"  From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts  luroj 

ua  on  by  his  rapt  devotion  to  tie  changing  aspects  of  Nature  and 

by  his  Keen  and  sympathetic  analysis  of  hiunan  character."  — 

Ouion  Transcript. 


-mL 


LTSr  OF  F/CT/OA' 


m 


CAMERON    OF    LOCHIEL 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Philippe  Aubert  de  Gaspd,  with 

frontispiece  in  color  by  li.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Professor  Roberts  deser\  es  the  thanks  of  his  reader  for  giving 
a  wider  audience  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  this  striking  bit  of 
French  Canadian  hterature,"  — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

THE    PRISONER    OF    MADEMOISELLE 

With  frontispiece  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative SI. 50 

A  tale  of  Acadia,  —  a  land  which  is  the  author's  heart's  delight, 

—  of  a  valiant  young  lieutenant  and  a  winsome  maiden,  who  first 

captures  and  then  captivates. 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  ANCIENT  WOOD 

JVith  six  illustrations  by  James  L.  Weston, 
library  1 2mo,  decorative  cover  .  .        .      $1.50 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  recent  days."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"  A  classic  twentieth-century  romance."  —  New  York  Commer- 
cial .-Idvertiser. 


THE    FORGE    IN    THE    FOREST 

Being  the  Narrative  of  the  Acadian  Ranger,  Jean  de  Mer, 
Seigneur  de  Briart,  and  how  he  crossed  the  Black  Abb**,  and 
of  his  adventures  in  a  strang(>  fellowship.  Illustrated  by  Henry 
Sandham,  R.  C.  .\. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

A  story  of  pure  lo\e  and  heroic  adventure. 

BY    THE    MARSHES    OF    MINAS 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  $1.50 
Most  of  these  romances  are  in  the  author's  lighter  and  more 

playful  vein;   each  is  a  unit  of  absorbing  interest  and  exquisite 

workmanship. 

A   SISTER    TO   EVANGELINE 

Being  the  Story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went  into 
exile  with  the  villagers  of  (jrand  Pr<5. 

Library  l2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated    .       .        .      $1.50 
_  Swift  action,  fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  puo- 
sioD,  and  searching  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 


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WORKS  OF 
L.  M.  MONTGOMERY 
ANNE   OF  GREEN   GABLES 

Illu8trat(Hl  bv  M.  A.  and  W.  A.  J.  Claua.  12mo  .  $150 
"  Anne  of  Green  Gablea  "  is  beyond  question  the  most  popular 
girl  heroine  in  reeent  years.  I'oets,  statesmen,  humorists,  rritirs, 
and  the  great  public  have  lost  their  hearts  to  the  charmmg  Anne. 
"  Anne  of  Green  Gables  "  is  not  a  book  of  a  season,  to  attain  a 
wide  popularity  for  a  brief  space  and  sink  into  oblivion  with  many 
another  "  best  seller,"  but  its  literary  merit  is  such  that  it  is 
bound  to  have  a  permanent  i)laee  in  Uterature  and  contmue  to 
increase  in  popularity  with  each  succeeding  season. 

"  In  '  Anne  of  Green  Ciables  '  vou  will  find  the  dearest  and  most 
moving  and  delightful  chilil  since  the  immortal  AHce."  —  Mark 
Twain  in  a  letter  to  Francis  \['iL-<on. 

ANNE  OF   AVONLEA 

niu-trated  bv  George  Ciibbs.     12mo      .  .  S1.50 

In  this  volume  Anne  is  as  fascinating  as  ever,  and  the  aiithor 
has  introduced  several  new  characters,  ineludmg  the  highly 
unaginative  and  charming  little  boy,  Paul  Irving,  whose  quamt 
sayings  will  recall  to  the  reader  the  delightful  Anne  on  her  farst 
appearance  at  Green  Gables.  ,  ^     .  ,  „  ,     . 

"  Here  we  have  a  book  as  human  as  David  Harum,  a  neroine 
who  outcharms  a  dozen  princesses  of  hction,  and  reminds  you 
of  some  sweet  girl  you  know,  or  knew  back  in  the  days  w-hen  the 
world  was  young  and  vou  threw  away  vour  sponge  that  you 
might  have  to  borrow  hers  to  clean  your  slate."  —  San  tranasco 

Bulletin.  .    .  .    •  .  •   ^    u     i 

"  A  book  to  lift  the  spirit  and  send  the  pessimist  into  bank- 
ruptcy! "  —  Menilith  Nichn'son. 

KILMENY   OF  THE  ORCHARD 

Illustrated  bv  George  Gibbs ,.        ..l'-^,^ 

"  '  Kilmenv  of  the  Orchard  '  is  a  book  of  rare  quahty,  ^dithnalt 
to  describe  but  evident  to  those  who  have  eyes  to  see.    —2  he 

Bookshelf.  .     i.     i.     _*  -.r 

'•  '  Kilmenv  of  the  Orchard  '  is  a  story  bom  m  the  heart  ot 

Arcadia  and  "brimful  of  the  sweet  and  simple  life  of  the  primitive 

environment."  —  Bo.ilon  Hrrnld.  , 

"  '  Kilmenv  of  the  Orchard  '  is  a  story  of  decidedly  unusual 

conception  and  interest,  and  will  rival  this  author's  earher  workfl 

in  popularity."  — Kalamazoo  Evening  Press. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

LILIAN  BELL 

CAROLINA   LEE 

With  a  frontispiece  in  color  by  Dora  Wheeler  Keith. 
Library  12ino,  clotli,  decorative  cover       .  .    $1  50 

"  A  charming  portrayal  of  the  attractive  life  of  the  South, 

refreshing  as  a  l)reeze  that   blows  through  a  pine  forest  "  — 

Albany  Times-Union. 

HOPE    LORING 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    ...         .      $1.50 

"  Tall,  slender,  and  athletic,  fragile-looking,  yet  with  nerves 

and  sinews  of  steel  under  the  velvet  flesh,  frank  as  a  boy  and 

tender  and  beautiful  us  a  woman,  free  and  independent,  yet  not 

bold  —  such  IS  '  Hope  Loring.'  "  —  Dorothy  Dix. 

ABROAD    WITH    THE    JIMMIES 

With  a  portrait  in  duogravure,  of  the  author. 

Library  I'imo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  .      $1.50 

"  Full  of  ozone,  of  snap,  of  ginger,  of  swing  and  momentum." 

—  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

AT    HOME    WITH    THE    JARDINES 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    .  -       .      $1  50 

"  Bits  of  gay  humor,  sunny,  whimsical  philosophy,  and  keen 
indubitable  insight  into  the  less  evident  Tspects  and  workings 
of  pure  human  nature,  with  a  slender  thread  of  a  cleverly 
extraneous  lo\'e  story,  keep  the  interest  of  the  reader  fresh."  — 
Chicago  Kecord-Herald. 

THE    CONCENTRATIONS    OF    BEE 

With  colored  frontispiece 

Library  12mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    ....      $1.50 

"  One  of  the  cleverest  women  writers  of  fiction  is  Lilian  Bell. 

She  belongs  to  the  younger  class,  old  enough  to  have  experience, 

liut  not  old  enough  to  have  lost  the  saving  grace  of  enthusiasm  " 

—  Lo»  Angelas  E-rpresn. 

THE     INTERFERENCE     OF    PATRICLA    AND    A 

BOOK    OF    GIRLS 

With  a  fronlis)iiece  from  drawing  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
Library  I'imo,  cloth,  <lerorative  cover    ....      $1.50 
"  Lilian  Bell  surely  understands  girls,  for  she  depicts  all  the 
variations  of  girl  nature  so  charmingly."  —  Chicago  Journal. 


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8  /..    C.   PAG  I:    &-    COMPAXY'S 

WORKS  OF 

MORLEY  ROBERTS 

RACHEL    MARR 

Library  12ino,  cloth  decorative <1.50 

"  A  novel  of  tremendous  force."  —  Elia  W.  PeaUie 
"  In  atmosphere,  if  notliing  else,  the  story  ia  absolutely  per- 
fect." —  Boston  Transcript. 

LADY    PENELOPE 

With  nine  illu.strations  by  Arthur  VV.  Brown. 

Library  l'.?mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  A  fresh  and  -^..^inal  bit  of  comedy  as  amusing  as  it  ia  auda- 
cious." —  Boston  Transcript. 

THE    IDLERS 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  John  C.  Frohn. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative SI. 50 

"  It  ia  as  al.isorbing  as  the  devil."  —  The  New  York  Sun. 

THE    PROMOTION    OF    THE    ADMIRAL 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated    .  $1.50 

"  If  any  one  writes  better  .-ioa  stories  than  Mr.  Roberts,  we 

don't  know  who  it  is;  and  if  there  is  a  better  sea  story  of  its  kind 

than  this  it  would  be  a  joy  to  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  it."  — 

New  Y^ork  Sun. 

THE    FLYING    CLOUD 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece         .  $1.50 

"  It  is  the  drama  of  tlie  sea:  human  nature  stripped  naked 

by  salt  water  alchemy  and  painted  as  only  the  author  or  Joseph 

Conrad  could  paint  it."  —  New  York  Times. 

THE  BLUE  PETER 

With  frontispiece  by  Henry  Roth. 

library  r2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  of  Morlcy  Roberts  that  he  is  one  of 

the  very  few  writers  of  to-day  who  live  up  to  the  best  traditions 

of  the  sea  story."  —  The  Bookman. 

DAVID    BRAN 

Cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece  in  color   .  $1.50 

In  "  David  Bran  "  Mr.  Roberts  presents  in  a  new  light  the  old 
story  of  a  man  and  two  women. 


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LIST  OF  FICTIOX 


WORKS  OF 

AUCE  MacGOWAN  AND  GRACE  Mac- 

GOWAN  COOKE 
RETURN 


With  six  illuHtrationa  by  C.  D.  Williams. 
Library  I'iino,  rloth  decorative 


$1.50 


"  So  rich  in  color  w  this  story,  ho  crowded  with  fiRurefl,  it  seems 
like  a  bit  of  old  Italian  wall  painting."  —  Ntw  York  Sun. 

THE  GRAPPLE 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

Library  I'imo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  The  story  is  so  original,  so  strong,  and  so  finely  told  that  it 
deserves  a  large  and  thoughtful  public."  —  A^.  Y.  Times. 

THE  LAST  WORD 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  $1.50 

"  A   charming,   and  wholly  fascinating  piece  of  fiction."  — 
Louisville  Post. 

HULDAH 

With  illustrations  by  Fanny  Y.  Cory. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.60 

Here  we  have  the  great-hearted,  capable  woman  of  the  Texas 
plains. 

VORKS  OF 

NATHAN  GALLIZIER 
THE  SORCERESS  OF  ROME 

With  four  drawings  in  color  by  "  The  Kinneys." 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

The  love-story  of  Otto  IIL,  the  boy  emperor,  and  Stephania, 
wife  of  the  Senator  Crescentius  of  Rome. 

CASTEL  DEL  MONTE 

With  six  illustrations  by  TL  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

A  romance  of  the  fall  of  the  Uohenstaufen  dynasty  in  Italy. 

THE  COURT   OF  LUCIFER 

With  four  drawings  in  color  by  "  The  Kinneys." 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

An  hiBtorical  romance  woven  around  the  famous  Borgia  family. 


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WORKS  OF 

OTHER  AUTHORS 

A    GENTLEBIAN    OF    QUALITY 

By    FREDEnicK    Van    Henshelaer    Dey. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece  in  coIdf  .       .  $1.50 

"  A  romance  that  is  viviil  and  original.    The  author  shows  a 

great  gift  of  orijfinality  and  dramatic  insight.    It  is  a  story  that 

will  hold  firmly  the  attention  of  even  the  veteran  novel  reader 

to  the  end."  —  77u;  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  QUINCY  ADAMS 
SAWYER  AND  MASON'S  CORNER  FOLKS 

By  Charles    Felton    Pidgin,   author  of  "  Quincy   Adama 
Sawyer,"  "  Wennerhasset,"  "  iStephen  Holton,"  etc. 
Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  liy  Henry  hoth  .     $1.50 

"  The  book  is  intensely  human,  Lriglit,  witty,  hopeful,  kindly, 
and  interesting."  —  Christian   Endeavor   World. 

THE    MYSTERY    OF    MISS    MOTTE 

By  Caroline  Atwateh  Mason,  author  of  "  A  Lily  of  France." 
Cloth   decorative,    with    frontispiece   in   color  $1.25 

"  It  is  a  clean,  wholesome  story  of  piesent-day  life,  with 
nothing  far-fetched  or  overdrawn."  —  United  Presbyterian . 

"  .\  love  story  particularly  neat  and  sweet,  in  which  mystery 
plays  a  part.  Mrs.  Mason  develops  her  romance  skilfully  against 
a  very  pleasant  social  background."  —  New  York  World. 

THE    CALL    OF    THE    SOUTH 

By  Robert  Lee  Di'rham. 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  Henry  Roth  $1.50 

"  '  .\  terrific  story  but  a  true  one  '  —  this  is  what  the  thinking 
world  is  saying  concerning  '  The  Call  of  the  South.'  "  —  Tf^ 
Baltimore  Sun. 

"  The  force  of  the  book  is  tremendous.  In  dramatic  power  it 
equals  Tolstoi's  'Resurrection.'  "  —  Rev.  .Martin  D.  Hardin. 

TAG;   OR,  THE  CHIEN  BOULE  DOG 

By  Valance  Patriarche. 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Goldsmith. 

Cloth  decorative $1.00 

"  It  is  fresh  in  plot,  bright  and  merry  in  spirit,  full  of  kindly 
humor  in  style  and  incident."  —  Grand  Rapidn  Herald. 

"  The  entire  tale  is  a  delightful  bit  of  humor."  —  Portland 
Preta. 


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of   "The   Black   Barque," 
With  frontispiece  in  color 


A  CAVALIER  OF   VIBGINIA 

By  n.  E.  Theodore  Roberto,  author  of  "  Hemming,  the 

Adventurer,"  "  Captain  Love,"  t  tc. 

Library  12iiio,  cloth  Heeorative,  illustrateJ  $1.80 

"  The  .story  i.s  a  thrilling  one,  well  told,  with  an  interest  that 
is  8ustaine<l  from  start  to  linish."  —  I'ortland  Ei>ening  Ex/n-ess. 

"A  story  which  people  will  want  to  read.  It  so  grips  with 
its  interest  that  having  once  begun  there  m  no  stopping-place 
short  of  the  end."  —  U.islon  Transcript. 

BAHAMA  BILL 

By  T.   Jenkins    IIains,  a\. 

"The  Voyage  of  the  Arrow, 

by  H.  R.  Reuterdahl. 

Library  r2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  As  for  Bahama  Bill,  the  reader  will  like  him  whether  he  will 
or  no;  he  dominates  *he  book,  unscrupulous  though  he  may  be. 
Nevertheless  there  is  not  a  mean  streak  in  him.  We  shall  be 
tempted  to  read  'Ba'.ima  Bill,'  several  iimea."  —  Springfield 
Union. 

THE  LEAD  OF  HONOUR 

By   NoRVAL   Richardson.     With   frontispiece  in   color  by 

Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12mo.  cloth  decorative $1.60 

"  It  is  rarely  that  a  love  storj-  is  written  in  these  days  that  has 
in  it  80  much  of  fine  and  lofty  sentiment,  of  so  high  ideals  and  io 
absorbing  in  its  romance  that  the  reader  for  the  time  ia  lifted 
out  of  himself."  —  Springfield  Union. 

MY  HEART  AND  STEPHANIE 

By  Reginald  Wright  Kauffman,  author  of  "  Miss  Frances 
Baird,  Detective,"  etc.    Illustrated  by  A.  G.  Lamed. 

Library  12mo,  cloth $1.50 

"The  atory  goes  with  a  fascinating  runh  which  is  most  enter- 
taining, and  so  thoroughly  imbued  is  the  reader  with  the  spirit 
of  the  plot  that  he  is  almost  sorry  to  end  the  mystery  with  the 
last  chapter,  even  if  the  ending  is  a  most  happy  and  logical  one." 
—  Boston  Globe. 

"  Pari,sian  life  in  Bohemian  circles  is  picturesquely  described, 
and  probably  there  has  never  been  a  bettc  word  painting  of 
restaurant  gaiety  than  Mr.  KaufTman's  accou  it  of  the  famous 
«  Abbaye  '  with  its  brilliant  gathering."  —  Philadelphia  Item. 


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PEGGY   AT   SPINSTER   FARM 

By  Hki,k.n  M.  Winslow,  author  of    •  l.itrrary  Boston  v>f  To- 

diiy,"  etc. 

lllastratwl  from  orininul  photoRruphs  by  M;iry  (i    Huntsman. 

I'-tiio   .  $1.50 

Wluitovfr  MisH  Wiii.-ilow  wiitt-H  in  >£.hmI,  for  An-  im  in  ucponi 
with  the  lift-  worth  hviti^;.  'Ihi-  Spin.-^ter,  her  iiifcc  "  IVguy," 
the  I'rofcssor,  Jind  younx  HulxTt  ( inivcs,  -  not  forK<tlii'iK 
llinu'i,  I  ho  hired  m;in,  make  a  'crv  ehciTfuI  romjiaiiy. 

'•  Very  aihiriiiK  i.s  the  picture  >he  draw.H  of  the  old-fiwliioned 
hou.se,  the  splendid  old  trees,  the  plea.sant  walk.s.  the  (j'Tgetms 
Him.set,s,  and  --  or  it  would  not  be  Helen  \\  inslow  —  the  cats."  — 
The  liiislon  Tranxcnpl. 

THE  GOLDEN  DOG 

A  RoMANCK  or  OiEBEc.     By  Wiluam  Kiuny. 

New  authorized  eiLtion,  printwl  from  new  plates.     Illu.stnitod 

by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 

One  vol.,  library  12mo.  cloth  $1.25 

A  i)ow<'rful  romance  of  love,  intriRue,  nnii  adventure  in  the 
innm  of  Loui.s  XV.  .ind  .Madame  de  Pompadour.  Mr.  Kirby  htm 
shown  how  false  |)riden  and  ambitions  .stalked  abroad  at"  this 
time,  how  they  enten-d  the  heart  of  man  to  work  his  destruction, 
and  particularly  how  they  influenced  a  In-aulifu!  demon  in  female 
form  to  continued  vengeances."  —  BoMun  Herald. 

COMMENCEMENT  DAYS 

By  ViKuiMA  C'iiri{(  II. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrate*]  $1.50 

"  A  delightful  tale  of  college  life,  one  that  cannot  fail  to  ap|)eal 

to  the  lover  of  k<hmI  things  in  hetion.     It  is  well  worth  reacting." 

—  Rochfslcr  UnUm  it  Ailvtrli.HeT. 

HELL-FIRE  HARRISON 

Library    12mo,    eloth    decorative,    illuatratwi    by    Frank    T. 

M»'rrill  ji.oo 

"  The  story  is  charminKly  told,  the  people  are  alive,  and  the 
plot  unfolds  eiusily  and  naturally."  —  Chicai/o  Banker. 

"  The  story  i^  all  *oo  brief,  beinji  ;in  al><orbing  tale  wit 
of  sparkle  and  life."  —  Roslon  Trnmcrii 

"  Lovers  of  histor>',  as  well  fus  the  geiivial  reader,  will  find  this 
stf)r>'  of  absorbin^'  interest,  jts  the  manners,  customs,  the  histon- 
and  the  religion  of  the  time  of  (Jeorge  IIL  are  set  forth  in  a  way 
that  proves  extreniely  fa.scinating."  —  A^.   Y.  Evening  Post. 


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